Running Away Never Works
by ResidentGoth
Summary: She came to her cousin's house after she lost everyone in the epidemic. He came with his group, even though at times he wanted to leave it. Neither expected to find anything, let alone each other. DarylxOC. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS. ORIGINAL DOCUMENT IS LOST.
1. Moving On

**Hello readers! This is my first Walking Dead fic, and as much as I love the whole Daryl/Carol relationship, I still had an OC that suited him floating around in my head. So this is what it turned into. Also, the Chapter titles are songs for a bit of a soundtrack for this fic. The first one, "Moving On", is from the soundtrack to **_**The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford **_**(the one with Brad Pitt in it). **

**Please please please review after you read. I really appreciate the feedback. **

**DISCLAIMER: **_**I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD OR ANY OF THE SONGS USED AS TITLES FOR THIS FANFICTION. **_

The nightmares were back. Kyra curled in on herself, whimpering and moaning in terror. They were coming, they were coming, everyone else was dead, the zombies were after her next…

Her eyes snapped open with more force than a cut cord. She sat up and breathed hard. The bedroom around her was empty, the house was empty… She knew now what she had to do. She rolled out of bed, brewed a pot of coffee, and began packing. Hopefully Cousin Hershel was still alive despite all of this madness going on.

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The road was dark, the entire world was dark. It was peaceful, almost. Thanks to the resident roving zombie hordes, no one dared come out at night anymore. So she enjoyed the silence, and drove the empty roads without the radio on.

The quiet was jarred by screeching from the engine. It sputtered and coughed, and finally gave out in the middle of the road. She punched the dash and frowned. It was still twenty miles to Hershel's farm. What the hell was she going to do now? She alighted upon an idea, but shot it back down almost immediately. It was completely insane, really. Then again, she had the Mag-Lite, and she had also, in a brief moment of temporary clarity, taken her sword from over the mantelpiece and dropped it into the belt loop at her hip. Right now the weapon sat in the passenger seat, its hilt gleaming in the moonlight, inviting. She cursed herself for her insanity and hopped out of the truck.

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Kyra kept a tight grip on the hilt of the sword, eyes roving about her, distrustful of every shadow and sound. But she kept going, and by dawn was able to see Hershel's mailbox. Thirst nagged at her throat; why the hell didn't she bring a water bottle or something? Dawn broke against the sky, pale fingers of light shooing away the night's darkness. An hour later she plodded down Hershel's driveway, her back aching, faint from thirst. Georgia heat always got started early; today was no exception. The sun was barely high in the sky and already sweat beaded her forehead like morning dew. She stared resolutely ahead. She could see the outline of Hershel's house not far off. She smiled to herself, and kept walking.

Almost there. Almost there. Just a few more steps. Her vision grew blurry and swam before her eyes. Fatigue threatened to overtake her if she didn't stop now. Still she walked on.

She didn't even register the camp she was passing through, or the rough male voice calling out to her to stop or he'd shoot, or even the earth rising up to meet her as she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

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Daryl had taken the last watch. So far it was uneventful. The sun was rising. Birds were singing, all that happy go-lucky shit he didn't care for. He scanned the camp one last time, for good measure, before letting T-Dog take over. His keen blue eyes alighted on an approaching figure, one he'd somehow missed before. He raised the crossbow, daring it to come any closer. The prospect of the kill excited him. One more dead walker meant one less to worry about. He followed its path through the sight on the crossbow… only it wasn't an it. It was a she.

Either he was going insane from lack of sleep, or there was a young woman, probably not much older than he was, ambling down the dirt drive like she'd just been out to get the mail. He decided on the latter. There were two bags slung over her shoulders, a duffel and a sack that he supposed would have passed for some sort of purse. She was headed for Hershel's house, which meant she had to pass through camp. And Daryl was not about to let that happen.

"Hey!" He shouted down to her. "Stop now, or I'll shoot! Lady, I'm talkin' to you!"

She collapsed then, almost as if his words alone had knocked her out. Daryl grumbled to himself, ignoring the complaints of the others for waking them. For all they knew he could have saved their asses and they didn't even know it. He crouched next to her, tilting her face up so he could get a better look at her. His hand pressed against her neck, and he found a weak pulse. The stupid broad had probably fainted from exhaustion.

He glanced up at the main house. Lights were being turned on and he saw the front door open. There were footsteps behind him; he glanced over his shoulder at the intruder. It was only T-Dog. Daryl turned back to the woman, and slipped the straps of her things over her shoulders and out of the way. He heaved her up off the ground and wrapped an arm around her waist to support her. She stirred a little; that was a good sign. He threw her arm around his shoulder, and thus half-carried, half0dragged her to the house.

Apparently he'd yelled louder than he thought, because by the time he reached the porch, Hershel and Maggie were already out the door. When they saw the woman slung around Daryl's shoulders, Maggie almost fainted and Hershel immediately barked for someone to clear out a bed, Kyra was out front and unconscious.

"How long has she been unconscious?" Hershel asked curtly.

"Not long, maybe fifteen minutes." Daryl replied.

"Good. I need you to carry her up to one of the bedrooms, follow Maggie, Patricia! I need cold water and rags! It's Kyra." Hershel lumbered off into the house, leaving Daryl with Maggie and this Kyra woman, whom they knew apparently.

"This way." Maggie said quickly, motioning inside. Daryl scooped her up bridal style and carried her into the house, occasionally stealing a glance at her face. He hadn't paid much attention to women since the walkers hit, but he decided that this one, Kyra, was kind of cute. If she woke up, he might talk to her.

Just as Daryl was leaving the spare room, Hershel rushed in, beside himself. This Kyra was definitely family. Maybe he'd leave her be then. Best not to get involved with the family drama.

He allowed himself one look back at her, and smiled to himself. Her eyes were cracked just a fraction. She stared in his general direction for a moment and then closed her eyes again, as Hershel and the family clucked and fussed over her like chickens.

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Kyra was only dimly aware of arms around her, picking her up, carrying her somewhere. Then there was the sensation of being set down by said arms into a soft bed.

She saw the hazy silhouette of a man, probably the same one that had threatened to shoot her. She felt rags, cold wet rags, being pressed to her forehead, and heard much worried speech. A large hadn pressed against her neck, checking her pulse. Someone asked her –it sounded like Maggie, though she couldn't be sure—if she wanted any water or any food. Amazingly, Kyra managed to croak out the word water, and then she felt her head tilted upwards and someone pressing a glass to her lips. She drank greedily, and her head was laid back down on the pillow. Someone said they should probably let her sleep now, the worst part was over, she'd wake in a few hours.

Kyra let sleep overtake her, only pausing to make a mental note to thank whoever it was that had brought her inside.

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**Thanks for reading, y'all, and don't forget to review. (: Not sure when the next chapter will be up but either way. Hope ya liked it. Oh and by the way: Don't get your hopes up that it'll be 100% canon. I don't have that kind of time. **


	2. Barefoot Pilgrims

**Hello all! Thanks for staying tuned in, especial thanks to the two of y'all who reviewed and all y'all who put this on Alert/Favorites or both. This is a bit of a long chapter, but I promise to please. Especially all of you who think Shane is an egotistical jerk. ;) Today's song is "Barefoot Pilgrims" by Balmorhea, go look it up, I recommend. :D Enjoy and don't forget to review! **

**DISCLAIMER: **_**I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING INVOLVING THE WALKING DEAD, ETC, ETC, OR ANY OF THE SONGS USED AS CHAPTER TITLES. NO INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED. **_

Kyra awoke later—it seemed like days had passed, but the rational side of her brain told her it was probably only six or seven hours— to the sound of voices from downstairs. She dressed in clean clothes and stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, still groggy and slightly disoriented. She was able to pick out Hershel's voice, along with two others she didn't recognize.

She followed the sounds of argument into the dining room, where she found Hershel seated at the table, flanked by two men Kyra had

never seen before. The two men were the ones doing most of the arguing. The one on the left appeared decent enough. He was wearing a sheriff's uniform and had a careworn face. The one on the right, however, sent red flags up in Kyra's brain. She wasn't sure whether it was the pistol tucked into the waistline of his BDUs, or the sheer bulk of him, or the fact that he was as irate as a wet cat, or all of the above. She decided on the latter.

Just as Hershel opened up his mouth to speak, she cleared her throat quietly and shifted her weight uneasily.

"Is this her?" The second man demanded. "She certainly don't look related to you." He cast a dark look at Kyra, then to Hershel, then the sheriff.

"Hershel's my daddy's cousin, second cousin really. I look more like my mama so that's why there's no real resemblance." She explained evenly.

"Really?" The second man moved around the table to her. Kyra drew herself up to her full height—even though she was only five three—and looked him square in the eye. "And if you're family like you say, why didn't you come here sooner?" He was just inches from her. She could smell the sweat and gunpowder on him.

"Let her be, Shane. I told you, she's kin." Hershel said wearily.

"Shane, is it?" Kyra glared daggers back at him, put her hands on her hips and heard her accent growing more country with every word she spoke. "Well, Shane, I'll have you know that until last night I lived by myself in a little house in a subdivision plagued with zombies, and two weeks ago I lost everyone that was dear to me to the fuckers. I have nightmares every time I close my eyes, because I was too late to save anyone and had to execute them all. I attempted living alone, but quite frankly, the house was too full of ghosts for me to be able to abide." She pushed him away from her with one hand splayed against his sternum, righteously upset now. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I would like a word with Hershel." She poked Shane in the chest and pointed to the door. "Without _your_ needless whistle-blowing. Now git."

Shane looked unfazed, even amused. "Or what?" He smirked. "Little thing like you, you ain't no threat to me."

Kyra wound up and bitch slapped him as hard as she could. The blow echoed across the room and a red handprint was blooming across Shane's cheek. "If I'm not a threat you wouldn't have started this argument. Now go." She pointed to the door again, determined not to let him win.

Shane, sensing defeat, slunk from the room. Kyra watched him go with a look of hellfire and brimstone. Once he was gone, she let the anger drop from her face like a curtain and turned back to Hershel and the first man. She sank into a chair and glanced at Hershel. "Sorry about that. I'm sure that was one hell of an introduction."

The first man chuckled. "You're actually the first woman I've seen to slap him like that. And I've known Shane since high school."

"You brave man." She mumbled sarcastically. "Lord a mercy, where are my manners?" She stood and held her hand out to the first man. "Kyra O'Malley. As you've probably already heard, I'm kin to the Greene family."

The sheriff man nodded and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. My name is Rick Grimes. My group is staying on the farm, not too far out. "

"Good to meet you, Rick." She turned to Hershel and continued: "I hope everyone's okay? How's Maggie?"

Hershel sighed and shook his head. "We've not been immune, I'm afraid. We've lost a good bit of people in this nightmare. Maggie's alright though. Right now I think she's helping Carol and Lori with the laundry downstairs.

Kyra clasped Hershel's hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. "I'm so sorry. I lost Daddy and Mitch and everyone not too long ago, like you probably heard."

Hershel nodded. "I did, it's a terrible loss. Your father was a good man."

Kyra sighed and released Hershel's hand. "Yes, he was. You said Maggie was in the basement, right?"

Hershel responded in the affirmative and Kyra headed down the stairs to go see her favorite cousin.

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The sounds of chatter floated up from the head of the stairs. Kyra descended quietly, so as not to worry Maggie into thinking she was taking recovery too quickly. She poked her head around the corner and called out, "You down here, Mag?"

Her cousin, sitting around a washtub with two other women, looked up at the sound of the familiar nickname. "Key! Thank God you're alright." She jumped up and gave Kyra a warm hug even though her hands were wet. "Here, come sit down." Maggie pulled up a short stool, and Kyra sat obediently.

"Mind if I help?" Kyra gestured to the baskets of dirty clothes; the two other women looked immensely relieved at the offer and agreed.

"This is Carol"—Maggie nodded at the woman to Kyra's right—"And this is Lori." This was the woman across the tub from Kyra. Carol seemed maybe forty five, with very close-cropped grey hair and a pleasant smile. Lori simply looked weary.

Kyra grabbed a shirt out of the basket and held it up, analyzing it closely. "Pardon my French, ladies, but who the fuck gets this much blood on one shirt?" She held up the offending article for all to see. Dark blood spatters covered the front and sides of the shirt.

Carol chuckled. "That would be Daryl."

"Daryl? Seems like a nice guy, this Daryl fella." Kyra set a washboard between her knees and began scrubbing the shirt in earnest. "Hate to be whatever this much gore came out of."

"It was probably a deer." Carol suggested. "Daryl's the hunter of the group."

"Wouldn't be surprised. Poor animal. " Kyra muttered. "So, how big is this group of yours?"

"Ten people." Lori answered. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if the number changed very soon."

"It's going to anyways." Carol replied. "It'll be eleven come spring."

Kyra stopped scrubbing at Daryl's shirt and looked at the two women. "Now hold the phone. I'm confused. Why's the number changing? And why spring?"

Lori gave her a small smile. "I'm having a baby."

Kyra dropped the shirt and reached over the tub, squeezing Lori's hand. "Congrats, hon. I wish I could be so lucky."

"It's a mixed blessing." Lori murmured.

Kyra, sensing her discomfort, returned to her task and changed the subject. "How long have y'all been here?"

"About three months." Lori answered. "It's nice having a place to stay at." She gave Maggie a small smile and returned to the wash.

Kyra chuckled. "That's better than me, I just got here."

Maggie chuckled. "It's a small miracle you got here at all. If it wasn't for Daryl I think you might have died of thirst and exhaustion."

Kyra stopped scrubbing again and stared open-mouthed at Maggie. "Tell me this is not the same man whose bloody shirt I'm washing."

Maggie nodded. "Yeah, that's him. You don't remember?"

Kyra scoffed and resumed washing. "What do you think? First thing I remember is being told to stop or someone would shoot, and then it's all black, and I think I remember someone carrying me to the house, and just as vaguely remember the lot of y'all frettin' over me like I'm the Queen or somethin'. And don't even get me started on what went down after I woke up." She added darkly.

"Why, what happened?" Maggie asked, a look of worry flashing across her face.

"Y'all didn't hear the racket upstairs?"

"No, we've been down here all morning." Lori answered innocently.

"There was arguing over whether or not I was a liability concerning the safety of the group at large." Kyra answered carefully.

"What'd you do?"

"There was some… disagreement over whether or not I'm really their kin." She nodded at Maggie. "Shane was being… intimidating, and in return I slapped him across the face and told him to git. Then I introduced myself to Rick and talked to Hershel for a bit, and now here I am."  
>Lori, Carol and Maggie all shared a look and then broke out into grins.<p>

"You slapped Shane?" Lori asked incredulously. "What'd he do?"

"Slunk off like a beat dawg. He was being an asshole, he asked for it." Kyra defended.

"No one's offended, Key." Maggie consoled. "Actually, I think you're the first outsider to stand up to him."

"Well, I wasn't about to let him cow me." Kyra grinned in spite of herself. "So, if I wanted to thank this Daryl guy for saving my scrawny ass, who am I looking for and where do I find him?"

"I don't know where he is usually." Carol answered. "He's been avoiding folks a lot lately."

"Hmm. So what am I looking for so I'll know when I find him?" Kyra pressed.

"A redneck with a crossbow." Maggie answered succinctly.

Kyra laughed. "Redneck with a crossbow. Duly noted."

The laundry was finished around four in the afternoon, and in the two-hour window between then and supper, Kyra set out to find this Daryl man, wherever he might be. She hoped he wasn't in the woods. Carol had said that if that's where he was, she'd not find him easily, if at all. Apparently the man's woodsman skills would put Bear Grylls and Grizzly Adams to shame.

She found him, though, seated on a tree stump with a rag and a lap full of crossbow bolts. He was rather good-looking, especially with the sun behind him as he worked.

She pushed these thoughts out of her brain and stuffed her hands in her pockets. Finally she got up the nerve to speak.

"You must be Daryl."

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**Woo that was enjoyable. More Daryl/Kyra interaction in the next chapter, where (!SPOILER ALERT!) we get inside the mind of our favorite crossbow-wielding redneck. Buwahahahahaha. Review please and tell me what you thought and/or anything you'd like to see in the future. :D**


	3. You Can Bring Me Flowers

**Hi everybody! Thanks to all of y'all who reviewed/added this your favorites and your alerts. This chapter's song is called "You Can Bring Me Flowers" by Ray LaMontagne, if for no other reason than its appearance in the story. As promised, more Daryl/Kyra interaction awaits so read on, my dears! **

**DISCLAIMER:**_** I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD OR ANY OF THE SONGS MENTIONED IN THIS FICTION. **_

"You must be Daryl."

At the sound of his name, his head jerked up. He'd never seen the woman standing before him ever in his life and yet there was something oddly familiar about her. He dismissed it and went back to cleaning his arrows. "Yeah, what of it?"

"I wanted to thank you."  
>He paused and examined her face closely. "You're the one who passed out in the middle of the driveway this mornin', ain't you? Kyra, right?"<p>

She chuckled and looked at her feet. Daryl took stock of her as she told him she was, and thanked him for carrying her up to the house, that he didn't have to do that.

She was quite the sight for sore eyes. Couldn't be more than five foot three, white as a sheet, choppy dark hair that fell just past her shoulders. Cute figure, flat stomach, good legs. His eyes landed on the scabbard at her hip.

"Why the fuck are you carrying a sword? Don't you know this is the apocalypse, not _Lord of the Rings_ or none of that shit?" He asked bluntly.

She smirked and fired back, "Why the fuck are you carrying a crossbow and not a high-powered rifle like your buddies do?"

Daryl smirked back at her. So she really was a firecracker. Carol had brought by his clean clothes earlier and said that the girl from this morning might be looking for him later; he hadn't paid much attention until Carol mentioned that she had bitchslapped Shane and gotten away with it. _Then _he was intrigued. "Fair enough. Seriously, though, why a sword?"

Kyra shrugged and absently cleared the blade in the scabbard. "I don't like guns, and I don't have the arm strength for a bow. So this is the next best option. I had a crowbar in my truck, but the damn thing went kaput on me at o'dark thirty this morning."

_That explains why she was on foot, _he thought, still half amused by the thought that this girl had balls enough to slap Shane. It was about damn time someone did. Especially a woman, because Daryl knew Shane would never sink so low as to hit a woman. Thus the prick would have to admit defeat for once in his fucking life.

"Mind if I see it?" He nodded towards the scabbard.

She shrugged and unclipped it from her belt. "Don't see any reason why not."

It was a nice enough looking weapon, made of one hundred percent stainless steel. The blade was about three feet long, thin, and sharpened on both sides. The hilt and cross guard were practical, with little ornamentation, wrapped in strips of soft black hide, he assumed to stop her soft little hands from callousing, as well as providing grip. The scabbard was made of black leather, also, but much more decorated. Irish knots looped up and down, and her initials were carved into the locket.

"An' you really think that's gonna save you from a pack of hungry walkers?" He asked incredulously, handing it back to her.

She got this look on her face, then, almost defiant, like she was locked and loaded and ready to draw blood in battle. "Already has. I've hacked my way out of zombie hordes before. I tell you, it's highly satisfying." She patted the scabbard as if for reassurance.

Daryl raised an eyebrow. "Really now. You ain't right."

She laughed proudly. "Takes one to know one."

Daryl shook his head. She turned to walk away, and he watched her go. He liked her. She was refreshing to be around after being with the same ten people for months. He'd have to keep an eye on her though; some of the other folks in the group probably wouldn't appreciate her temper so much.

He didn't want her to go so soon; he'd only just met her but he enjoyed her company regardless.

She was a little farther away, and he watched the way her hips swung involuntarily as she walked. He'd have liked to have those hips in the same tent as him one night. But, with her being kin to Hershel and whatnot, he doubted that was going to happen. So he pushed her out of his mind.

Best not to get his hopes up. That much he'd known from childhood.

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Daryl hitched the crossbow up onto his shoulder and set off towards the woods. He had barely taken twenty steps before he heard Rick's voice call out from back at the little camp.

Daryl stopped and turned to face the older man. "What?" He was feeling the beginnings of an ill mood; all he really wanted to do was get out into the woods and hunt. Not babysit or nothin'.

"Have you met Kyra O'Malley yet?" Rick asked.

"Kyra O'Malley? Who the hell is that?"

"The girl you saved yesterday."

Daryl cringed inside at the word "saved" He hadn't done nothing, just brought her inside.

"Yeah I have." He responded shortly. "What of it?"

"She told me and Hershel this morning that the bed of her truck was full of supplies but she hadn't been able to carry them all herself since it died about twenty miles out. They wanted you to go with her and move them over into Otis's truck so y'all could bring them back here."

Daryl scoffed. "I ain't your messenger boy. Send Glenn for that shit, not me." He began to stalk away.

"She asked for you specifically." Rick called.

Daryl stopped and considered. He turned on his heel and stomped towards the house. "I'm only doin' this because she asked for me."

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Daryl leaned against the door, scowling out the passenger side window, occasionally stealing a glance at her. She had the driver's window down, one arm hanging out and singing to herself like the world was fine and dandy and hadn't gone to complete and utter shit.

"_You can bring me flowers, baby, when I'm dead and gone…" _She sang in a low breathy whisper. Daryl would never have admitted it but he'd have loved to hear that whisper for a lot longer than he did.

His thoughts were interrupted by the truck grinding to a halt and she killed the engine. They were parked parallel to a beat up red Ford, not too much different than the one they'd driven in. Kyra hopped out of the blue truck, and let down the tailgate. Daryl watched, amused, as she stepped up onto the tire, swung a leg up over the wheel well and climbed into the bed. She stood with her hands on her hips and took stock of the crates and boxes surrounding her.

"Alright, let's get started." She straightened and put her hands on her hips, looking around for him. "Where'd you go?"

"Behind you." He was leaning on the tailgate looking up at her with an innocent smile on his face.

She wasn't fooled. "You were staring at my ass, weren't you?" When he didn't answer, she took it for a yes. "You were staring at my ass, you perv. Knew wearing shorts was gonna be a bad idea." She grumbled.

Daryl ignored the accusation. "How you plannin' on loadin' all that into Otis's truck?"

She ran a hand through her mass of dark hair and scanned the truck bed. "Need you to pull up Otis's truck so the beds are parallel and hop in the back. I'll hand stuff over to you. Cool?"

"Will be if you gimme the keys."

She tossed him the keys, and as soon as he was in the other truck bed she began to pass supplies over to him.

They only had a few boxes left after maybe thirty minutes. Kyra leaned out to pass one to Daryl and stumbled a little.

He lunged out and caught both her and the box of canned goods, and for a long moment their eyes met.

She had never thought anyone could have eyes as blue as he did. Rich, royal sapphire. She wanted to get lost in them.

The moment was spoiled, though, by the sound of loud groaning and shuffling coming from behind Kyra. Daryl's head snapped up and he yanked his hunting knife out of its sheath.

"Walkers." He muttered. "Fuck."

Later he would compare the speed with which she reacted to lightning. Before he could lunge out to stab the walker, steel flashed in the summer sun and in one swift, fluid arc the walker was out its head. She jumped out of the bed, and he gaped as she raised the blade and plunged it back down. There was the sound of slicing bone, and a wet splat. She motioned for him to check the perimeter, herself still in fight mode. There was only just the one. As soon as Daryl gave the all clear, she relaxed and climbed back into the bed of her truck. She gave him an apologetic smile, as if the walker appearing was her fault, and commenced to cleaning her sword with a rag she had produced from her back pocket. Once it was clean and re-sheathed, she picked up the crate of beans and handed it to Daryl.

"Let's get this shit over with quick." She muttered, her good mood clearly gone.

Daryl nodded and took the crate from her shaking hands.

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**Wasn't that nice of Daryl to help Kyra like he did? You'd almost think he liked her! ;D haha it only gets better from here, folks. Keep on keepin' on—er, reading and reviewing on. Heh heh. Chapter four will be up soon. Again, please review. :D**

**Also, I was thinking of changing the title. Lemme know your thoughts if y'all would be so kind. Much thanks. **


	4. Desire

**Hello luvvies! So, thanks to all who favorited and alerted this little piece. **** But seriously, y'all need to start reviewing again. I've got over eight hundred hits and four reviews. Come on y'all. I want to know how you think I'm doing with this story. **

**Anyways. The title of this chapter is "Desire", but not for the reasons you think. The artist credit goes to Ryan Adams, probably my favorite singer/songwriter of All Time. If you haven't heard this song, which is the most likely case, look it up after reading this chapter. **

**This is kinda a long chapter, but lots of things happen here soooooo….. yeah. Enjoy. **

**Usual disclaimers apply, I'm just too lazy to type them at this moment in time. **

Kyra rolled over and stared at the window, sighing heavily. After the run-in with the walkers today, there was no way she would be able to sleep without having nightmares. She envied Maggie for being able to sleep so soundly. _She_ didn't have to deal with vivid nightmares and relive the horror of that night, two weeks ago today, when she'd had to shoot every member of her family and her boyfriend, because all were either bitten or scratched or both. She passed her hands over her face and gazed longingly at the open window. Rick had said at dinner that Dale would be on first watch tonight, till one o clock when Shane would take over. Kyra sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She enjoyed talking with Dale; he liked to discuss the merits of all sorts of things, from Charles Dickens to duct tape. This afternoon she'd sat up on top of the RV with him and doodled a little in her fat sketchbook, listening raptly. The memory made her smile. She decided that she'd go out and keep him company for his shift; maybe a little human socialization would do her good. She gazed at the window a moment longer, then she set her feet to the cold floor and went about redressing and tying her hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she worked. She threw her sketchbook and her pencils in her bag and tied her sneakers tightly on her feet. At the last moment, she clipped the sword to her belt loop and snatched her Mag-Lite off the bedside table.

Just before closing the window after her, she took a moment to watch Maggie for any signs of wakefulness. She was in luck; her cousin hadn't stirred a bit.

The night was hot and sticky, and the moon was full in the sky. Kyra smiled to herself. She loved nights like these, nothing around except the shrill of the night bugs and the incessant buzz of the cicadas. She ambled towards the RV, making just enough noise for Dale to notice her and not mistake her for a walker. She made it all the way to the RV and halfway up the ladder before a rough voice said:

"What the hell are you doin'?"

Kyra stopped dead for a moment. She took a second to place the voice, then climbed up the next two rungs and poking her head above the edge.

Daryl was watching her with a look on his face that was either amused or irritated, she couldn't tell.

"I thought…" She flushed mightily at her mistake and continued: "I thought Dale was on first watch."

Daryl snorted. "Nope. Old man's probably sound asleep by now. What the hell you doin' out this late anyways?"

Kyra climbed up onto the RV and took the same spot she'd sat in earlier. It just so happened to be very close to Daryl's left leg.

"Couldn't sleep." She replied offhandedly. "So I thought I would come out here and sit with Dale while he was on watch."

Daryl snorted derisively again. "Why the fuck would you want to listen to that fool old man?"

She cast him a foul glare that, had he not already been in a bit of a good mood, would have set him off bigger than life. "Do you always ask that many questions? Are you like, group interrogator or something?"

Daryl smirked. "Naw. If I was you'd be all manner a battered and bruised." He paused then, and added quickly: "Only if you were a man, though. Don't hurt women."

She nodded slowly, no longer paying him any attention. From where she sat she had an excellent view of the pastures, the little trail that led between them to the woods, and the towering silent forest beyond.

Daryl watched as she pulled a black bound notebook from her sack, and opened it to a page. There were little drawings scattered about it; one of a heifer as it reclined in the grass, the porch from an angle, Hershel's living room. He wondered where she learned to draw like that.

"Didn't know you drew." He continued quietly, returning his attention to his watch.

"Lots a things you don't know 'bout me. Ain't rill good, anyways." She drawled softly.

God, he could have closed his eyes and listen to that soft, slow drawl all night long. Despite being a Georgia boy born and bred, something about a woman's Southern accent at that volume mesmerized him. He shook his head compulsively, like a dog would, and scanned the horizon. "If you say so, then."

She sat absorbed in her drawings for almost an hour. At length she sat up and rolled her wrist a couple times and flexed her fingers. "Damn, I'm 'onna have arthritis if I get old."

"If is a good word to use." He commented.

"Yep." She put away her pencil and her sketchbook and sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, resting her chin on them. "So, where you from? Before the outbreak, I mean."

Daryl still watched the camp attentively. "Small town, just west of the Alabama state line. Was headed down to Atlanta with my brother, Merle, when shit hit the fan."

_When Atlanta was bombed. _She knew he didn't have to say it. "I'm from the suburbs, myself. South of Atlanta. Don't know why I was so lucky as to make it this far. If I was to say anyone would have made it this far, it'd have been my daddy and not me." She looked down then, and the silence that ensued was awkward for both of them. She began to chew on her fingernails, pretty things that they were, and Daryl gently took hold of her wrist.

"Don't do that." He mumbled. "Sorry for your loss. I know it sucks." He kicked himself for not saying anything more comforting than that. "It sucks"? Honestly, how much more awkward could he make this? He knew he wasn't good at handling emotion, especially women's emotions, but he at least didn't want to see her cry. It would break his heart to have to see that.

"Is what it is." She sighed plaintively. "If you really must know, the reason I couldn't sleep is because I have nightmares."

Her voice was now so quiet that if Daryl hadn't had abnormally keen hearing all he'd have heard was mumbling.

"What about?" He wouldn't have asked, didn't want to be rude, but he sensed she needed to air out that bit of dirty laundry.

"Losing everybody. My family, my… my best friend… I was on a supply run, went down to see if there was anything left at the Walgreens around the corner… and when I got back they were overrun… Lord, there must have been twenty of them…"

"Walkers?"

She nodded, seeing it all over again in her mind's eye. _Her mother lay on the floor, already dead and gone. Her little brother, screaming in agony. Kyra felt the weight of the Glock in her hand, saw the barrel come up and saw her brother fall dead onto the living room floor. _"I was the lucky one. I survived because I hadn't been there at the time of attack." Her voice was hollow, dead, raspy. Daryl wanted to comfort her but he didn't know how. "My dad… He… he asked me, if I could do it for him, him and… and Mitchell… My god, Mitchell." She rested her head on her knees and let what few tears had already escaped fall down her chin and stolidly held back the rest of them. She knew that what she needed most was a good cry, but she'd be damned if she let herself cry in front of Daryl. At length she straightened and wiped her eyes with her fingertips.

"You alright?" He asked. She thought she heard genuine concern in his voice.

"Yeah. I'll be fine." She glanced up and saw him watching her with an almost pained look on his face. He was right; it _had_ broken his heart to know she was in that much pain and he was left having no earthly idea on how to help ease it. She gave him a brave smile and pulled her hair out of its ponytail, combing it out with her fingers.

"So you were pretty handy with that sword this morning." He changed the subject quickly. Better to remind her of victory rather than defeat.

"Thanks." She smiled warmly (for his benefit? He didn't know). "My daddy taught me. Been sword fighting since I was thirteen. This sword" -she nodded at the one attached to her belt loop- "he gave me for my sixteenth birthday."

"Damn. And how old are you now?" Goddammit, he knew better than to ask a woman her age, his mama would have beat him if she were here, God rest her soul.

"Twenty six."

So that put her at a few years younger than he. She looked much older, about thirty. He supposed it was the hardship of surviving the end of the world that had aged her. Either way he still found her more than attractive. Rapidly she was turning, in his mind at least, from pretty to beautiful. The longer he looked at her, the more little details he found to admire. Like the way she would push her hair all to one side and leave her neck bare on the other, the way it was now.

"What happened to your brother?" She asked suddenly. "Earl, right?"

"Merle." Daryl corrected her, half-smirking. Half the world seemed to think Merle's name was Earl; it had irritated the elder Dixon to no end. "He got handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta. By the time I got there to save his junkie ass, he was already gone; he'd cut his hand off so he could escape, see." He chanced a peek down at Kyra. She was staring at him with a look of abject disgust on her face.

"Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me."

Daryl laughed. "The hell I am. You must not be around desperate folks that much."

Kyra chuckled. "I guess not." She stood uneasily, using his shoulder for leverage. "I should probably go; it's getting pretty late. It was good talking to you again, Daryl." She gave him a smile and disappeared over the side of the RV, her sack slung over her shoulder. Daryl followed her with his eyes until she was safely inside. He'd never forgive himself something happened to her on his watch.

He decided then that he would protect her; guard her; keep her safe and comforted in every way he knew how. He didn't want her to hurt; rather, all he really wanted was just to be near her, hear her speak, see her smile, know she was happy and to make her life worth living.

He liked her. Genuinely, really liked her.

He liked her and he wanted her to reciprocate, and wanted nothing more than to tell her that, that he would never let anything happen to her, and for her to believe him.

But who was he kidding? He was forgetting who he was. He was a lone wolf by nature. There was no way she would ever return his feelings. It just didn't work that way. Women like her –city girls like her especially—just didn't mix with fucked-up "good ole boys" like Daryl Dixon. He sighed. Merle would beat the piss out of him and back if he ever knew. But then again, Merle had abandoned him a long time ago.

The thought of his brother riled up his temper with a vengeance, and he spent the rest of his watch brooding and stewing in his own misery.

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Kyra laid on top of the sheets, still dressed with only her shoes off, staring at the window. She'd seen Daryl around camp before, of course, and there was also tonight to consider. There was something about him that intrigued her. She knew most women would have taken one look at him and either felt objectified or intimidated, but when she was around him she felt… protected, almost. It was weird and she didn't know what it was, but she didn't want to know what it was lest it become paltry. In addition to that fact, whenever she'd seen him around, she had trouble taking her eyes off him. There was no denying it, Daryl Dixon was an attractive man. Tall, rugged, sturdy, with strong arms. And his eyes… My God, she'd never seen eyes that blue before. She wanted to get lost in them, those almost-navy blue rings capable of both getting under her skin and piercing her soul at the same time. The word "raptor" sprang to mind. And she honestly didn't mind that he was the strong, silent type. It meant he would listen well. But at the same time it made her afraid to talk too much. She was mortified that he would get tired of her prattle and just ignore her. Which left her at an impasse of the most vexing variety.

She rolled over and faced the wall instead of the window, and in time drifted off to sleep.

There were no nightmares that night, only hazy images to indistinct to recall the next morning.

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**Done already? Man that didn't take near as long as I'd have thought. Don't forget to review, please please please. I'm asking nicely, y'all. Don't know when the next chapter will be up, I'm kinda at an impasse with this story right now. But I promise it won't be more than a month. :D goth chick out. Auf wiedersehen. **

**(A/N: To all previous readers, this chapter has been updated ever so slightly to remove some major OOCness. As of Oct. 4 2012. That is all)  
><strong>


	5. Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave

**Hey y'all, I'm back. Surprisingly this chapter didn't take as long as expected. The storyline is getting more and more canon… mainly because that's what's working the best for me. Either way. Tonight's song is "Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave", off the **_**Titanic **_**soundtrack. Yes, I know. Titanic, of all films to choose from. You can kvetch at me later. Read and review and enjoy. **

**Usual, any and all disclaimers apply. I own nothing but my OC and her backstory. **

"So, what's going on with you and Daryl?"

Kyra nearly dropped the dishrag and the glass she was drying with it. Her jaw went slack as she stared at Maggie, who was smirking victoriously. It would have been the Fourth of July if the end of the world hadn't gotten in the way like it did. Kyra had been living with her cousins for a good couple months, and even though she tried to hide it, had spent as much time as she could with the hunter.

"What… what the hell are you talking about?" She stammered. "There's nothing going on." She finished weakly.

Maggie scoffed. "Yeah, just like me and Glenn ain't got nothin' between us."

Kyra flushed vividly. So what if she's spent as much time with the hunter as she could? They weren't sleeping together or anything. Not that she wouldn't mind it if that happened…

Maggie crowed at the sight. "Oh my god I knew it!"

"What makes you know that?" Kyra defended weakly. "It's not like we're hangin' all over each other like y'all two do."

Her cousin still looked smugly victorious. "I can tell because you're the only one he would even talk to of his own volition tonight at dinner." There was that. Kyra hadn't taken that into consideration.

"So how's that make you think we got somethin' goin' on?"

"I dunno, maybe the fact that he whispered somethin' in your ear and then you couldn't stop beaming for the rest of the night?"

Kyra was caught. No way she could deny it now. "Just don't tell anyone, okay Mags? I don't want him to shy away because other folks might know somethin' about us." She mumbled.

"Of course not." Maggie answered cheerfully. "You're secret's safe with me."

They finished the dishes in silence from there, at which point Maggie went upstairs and Kyra slipped out to go meet Daryl.

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Daryl caught the beam of a flashlight out of the corner of his eye and tensed, one hand curled tightly about the handle of his hunting knife.

" 'S just me. Don't shoot." Kyra. Finally. He relaxed and released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

She clicked off the Mag Lite upon entering the light of the tiny fire, and sat down next to him.

"Told you I'd be here." She smirked, though completely unsure as to what he wanted. "So, there a reason you asked for me to come out here tonight?"

Daryl shrugged. "Not really." _Just wanted to see you. Be alone with you._

"Really." Her voice betrayed playful disbelief. He glanced at her, and looked away when he saw she was glancing at him. She blushed and averted her face as well.

He heard a sigh and looked over to see her lying on her back, staring up at the cloudless night sky. "Anything good up there?" He asked drily.

She shrugged. "I dunno." She was silent for a moment, then continued: "Do you ever miss it?"

"Whaddaya mean?" he replied, slightly confused.

"Like, civilization. I mean, before the world ended. Do you miss it at all?"

He shrugged, lying down next to her and folding his hands on his chest. "S'pose I do sometimes. Ain't exactly the Hilton out here."

She grinned and chuckled. "Good one. But really. I miss lots of things. Like spaghetti. Don't ask me why but I do. It's the weirdest thing, you know? You don't think about all the little things you take for granted until—"

He cut her off midsentence, pressing his mouth against hers softly. After a moment, he pulled back and lay next to her.

"…Gone." She finished quietly, then rolled onto her side to get a better look at him. "Is that what you wanted me to come here for?"

"Mostly, yeah. Didn't want to have to deal with Hershel if he knew I'd kissed you."

Kyra chuckled again. "Don't worry about Hershel right yet. What he don't know can't hurt." That said she leaned in and kissed him in return, before breaking away and meeting his eyes. Her hand slipped into his, holding it tightly. Daryl lifted it and pressed a kiss to it before pulling her against him and kissing her a third time, deeper and longer this time.

She raised a hand and lightly brushed his hair out of his face with her fingertips. A jolt shot through him at the contact. He hadn't realized how absolutely nervous he was until now. The last thing he wanted to do was fuck this up and run her off somehow.

"I like seeing your eyes." She murmured between kisses.

He gave up then. To hell with anything else. The only thing that mattered was Kyra. He tangled his fingers into her hair and kissed her as passionately as he could, wanting nothing more than to melt with her and be one with this strange, wonderful woman he loved so dearly.

A twig snapped in the brushes beyond them, startling them both. Kyra jumped and scrambled backwards at the sound, fumbling for her pocketknife.

Daryl snatched up the crossbow and deftly loaded it, crouching protectively before her. The thing that caused the noise moved again, and Daryl crept up on it with characteristic skill. Once close enough, he shot it and yanked it up so he could get a better look at it.

Frustration crossed his face, followed by a stream of colorful choice words.

"Raccoon." He grunted by way of explanation.

Kyra nodded and stood. "Uh huh." She raked the sticks and leaves out of her hair and turned back towards the house. "It's late, I should probably go now."

She gave him a little wave and stepped towards the darkness.

"Wait!" He lunged after her and grabbed her hand. "I'll walk with you." _Don't want you gettin' hurt. _He added silently, hitching the crossbow further up onto his shoulder. She released herself from his grip and nodded silently, before walking towards the house.

Daryl shadowed her much the same way a protective dog would, alert of everything as he followed her into the dark.

00000000

The handle of the laundry basket cut into Kyra's side, but she didn't mind it too much. She climbed up into the RV and searched about for Lori; there had been a clay stain on a pair of Carl's jeans that didn't come out and she wanted to alert the older woman to that fact.

She had barely stepped foot out of the camper trailer when Andrea's voice split the air like a shrill siren:

"Walker! Walker!"

Kyra drew her sword and sped off in the direction indicated, barely hearing Dale trying to convince Andrea not to take the shot.

Kyra ran as hard as she could. Where was Daryl when they needed him? She fell into step behind Rick and T-Dog, feet pounding the earth in a rapid tattoo.

Within a matter of moments, the walker was within easy shooting distance. The small party slowed, Rick slowly raising his gun so as not to alert it too much.

Only it wasn't a walker.

It was Daryl, dragging the body of some dead thing behind him.

"Yeah, why don't you go on and point that goddamn thing at my face?" He snarled at Rick. Dirt and blood caked him entirely. No wonder Andrea had mistaken him for a walker at first.

A shot rang out clear as a bell in the late afternoon heat.

Daryl collapsed to the ground.

Kyra was frozen for a seemingly eternal moment. She watched as he scanned the group and made eye contact with her and her alone; then fell, as if lifeless, to the ground, only to be again lifted up by Shane and Rick.

That single moment propelled her to action again. She slammed the sword back into its sheath and tore off across the pastures, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Jimmy was the first to hear her. "What is it? What's going on?" The boy seemed terrified out of his mind. Kyra called back:

"Find Hershel _now!_ Daryl's been shot, and he don't look good!"

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**So that's that. I know, shorter than usual. Sorry bout that. I'm trying to avoid having to change Kyra's name to Mary Sue.**

** Don't forget to review. We'll be coming up on the end of Season 2 soon… I'mma cry, I can already tell it. But on the bright side: NO MORE SHANE! Small victories, folks. Small victories. :P**

**Chapter six will be a little more adult in theme, just a warning before I post it. Caveat lector. **


	6. The Navesink Banks

**Hi y'all! Sorry this chapter took so long. It wouldn't unfold in my head as quickly as the others did. So like I said before, this one is a little more adult in theme, etc etc etc. The title song is "The Navesink Banks" by The Gaslight Anthem. Thanks to Haven14 and Leyshla Gisel for being my most consistent reveiwers, and to everyone else who read, reviewed, subscribed and/or favorited. Over 40 subscribers, that makes me smile. Keep it up y'all. **

**This chapter is in Daryl's POV. I apologize to any Kyra fans who may be reading this. **

**Any and all disclaimers apply. It's late and I don't feel like typing them. **

Daryl heard the shot before he felt it. Searing pain racked his body, but he didn't scream like anyone else would. No, he was stronger than that. And frankly, he was quite surprised they hadn't shot him already. Took 'em damn long enough, and even then, he doubted they had really killed him. His vision blurred, and he scanned the small band of people gathered around him to stop the threat of walkers. His eyes rested on a lone figure, back a ways from everyone else with a long, glinting blade in her hand. (_Kyra What is she doing here Get her out of here before something happens_)

She had come to kill him too.

The edges of his sight went totally black, then closed in and left him in silent darkness.

Someone's hands were around his head. Wrapping something against his forehead. Maybe they were gonna strap him down to something before they shot him. Cowards. His eyes cracked a fraction, and he realized with some dismay that ther were not, in fact, going to shoot him. Rather he was in one of Hershel's guest rooms, and they were bandaging him up. Awful nice thing to do for someone they just used. Must want their resident coon hound in tip-top shape.

He tried to sit up, but a wide heavy hand pressed him back down to the mattress and an old man's told him he'd have to rest at least for the rest of the evening and the night, but he'd be fine to move later on, maybe tomorrow.

They must have drugged him too, because soon thereafter he fell back into the darkness, completely dead to the world around him.

His brother was shaking his shoulder roughly and barking out his name along with a command to get the hell outta bed. Daryl roused reluctantly and pulled his shirt over his head, before stomping out of his room to see what the fuck Merle wanted this time.

"Merle!" He shouted. "What the hell you gettin' at, wakin' me up like that? Merle? Answer me, dammit!"

No answer. It seemed that the ramshackle little house was as empty as a church on Monday morning. Merle was most likely just screwing with him again.

"Goddammit." Daryl grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and reaching into his back pocket for the box of cigarettes. Much to his chagrin the pocket was empty. He'd probably left him sitting on his window sill again. If Merle'd snatched them up while he was asleep there would be hell to pay for the older Dixon.

Daryl shuffled back to his room, threw the door open and froze in his tracks like a deer in the headlights. Kyra was sprawled out on his bed, dressed in only a pair of black lace panties and one of his shirts, the top four buttons undone. She had the box of cigs; it was resting on her sternum. A lit one dangled from between her fingers.

"Been waitin' for you." She drawled slowly, turning her head to stare at him. God, she was getting him so horny staring at him like that.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" He croaked. Those were the only words that would come out. She raised the cigarette to her mouth and took a long drag from it.

"You're dreaming, Daryl." She stated matter-of-factly. With skill he'd never have thought she possessed, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, all without losing the ash from the end of the cigarette. That she promptly dropped out of her fingers and snuffed out beneath the ball of her bare foot.

Daryl winced as he watched her do this; she'd burn herself if she wasn't careful.

She must have heard his thoughts or something, because as soon as the thought finished itself in his mind, she looked up at him innocently. "It's only a dream, Daryl. It can't hurt me." A devious smirk crossed her face and she put her mouth close to his ear.

"So let's have some fun while we're at it." She whispered, her fingers working deftly at his belt buckle.

Back in the real world, a door creaked on its hinges. Daryl's eyes snapped open but he lay still, only turning his head to glance at the person intruding on his solitude.

(_not Kyra not Kyra please dear God in heaven don't let it be Kyra) _

It was only Carol, bearing a tray with a plate of food and a glass of tea on it. He yanked the sheets up closer about his shoulders in an awkward attempt to hide the scars that riddled his back. Carol set the tray down on the side table and turned to Daryl.

"Thank you." She said quietly. "You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy did for her in his whole life." She pressed a kiss to his forehead and added: "You're a good man.", before leaving the room.

Daryl watched her go out of the corner of his eye, and lie in thought a moment. Maybe he wasn't totally despised after all.

He ate the food slowly, chicken and rice with canned green beans, and drained the glass of tea. The amber liquid was cool and sweet on his tongue. It reminded him painfully of Kyra. He replaced the dishes onto the tray and fell back to sleep, this time without dreaming.

After what felt like hours he heard the door opening again and awoke slowly. He heard a sigh—one of the women, it sounded like—and then the words:

"Well, at least he ate."

His heart dropped and shame washed over him in cold sweats. He hadn't wanted her to see him like this: so vulnerable and helpless and… weak. He hadn't wanted her to see the scars.

Daryl felt her eyes on him, and then heard the quiet shuffle of feet leaving the room. He noted with some displeasure that she hadn't closed the door.

He sank farther beneath the covers, praying desperately for her to leave him be, just this once.

More footsteps, approaching this time. Daryl feigned sleep, knowing who it was without having to look and see. She stared at him for another moment—what was she thinking while she stared down at him, he wondered—followed by the scrape of chair legs on the floor, and then the rapid turning of pages. She was sitting in a chair by his bedside, reading a book.

He couldn't fake it forever, he decided. He rolled over and let the sheets settle at his waist, staring up at her with as best a blank expression as he could muster, given the circumstances.

She was totally absorbed in her book, almost as absorbed as she was when she drew. The book she was reading was paperback, black with red writing on it, and the title "Plagues and Peoples".

Merle had said something about her… the words suddenly appeared in his mind like he'd just heard them a moment ago…

"_And what about that broad… what's-her-name, Cara, Karen, Carly…" _

"_Kyra." Daryl croaked in answer. _

"_Yeah her." The older Dixon's face was suddenly creased with protective worry. "You really think she's gonna care about you 's much as you do her, little brother? She's just in it for the ass. She don't care a rat's ass about you, man. Why the hell do you think she ain't been seen with you yet? Hmm? Because she pities you, you're nothin' but a simple, backwards redneck. An easy lay and then she's outta here. She's only gonna hurt you, little brother. You listen to ol' Merle. He knows."_

His stare hardened as the words echoed in his memory. He knew it then. Merle was right, as always. She'd only…

His train of thought dropped off when she glanced up from her book and smiled warmly on seeing him awake.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." She quipped, closing her book and regarding him closely. "How you feelin'?"

"Fine." He grunted in reply. Whatever he'd been thinking before was now lost to him.

She arched her eyebrows. "A likely story." She turned her head and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was maybe one thirty in the morning? Neither could really tell.

"In all seriousness, though, Daryl. How are you?"

The look on her face bespoke concern. He noticed suddenly that she was wearing black shorts and a button down shirt. "Told you, I'm fine." He avoided.

"I'm sure you think you are. Hershel told me to tell you if you woke up that you're gonna have to dial back on huntin' for Sophia for a day or so, 'til your side has healed up and all."

Frustration flashed through him. "I can't do that. I gotta find that girl, Kyra, you know that. I'm the only one that will. If I give up because of my side hurtin' a little I might as well be agreein' that she's dead along with the rest of y'all!"  
>She sighed heavily. "Daryl, I'm not asking you to stop altogether. Just one day. Maybe not even that long. Alright?"<p>

He glared at her. "You gonna sit here and play guard dog all night then? Make sure I don't get up and run away off into the woods?"  
>She straightened up; he noted with some satisfaction that he seemed to have struck a nerve. "As a matter of fact I am going to sit here all night."<p>

"Uh huh." He replied sarcastically. "So why'd you agree to watchin' me then?"

"Because I for one care what happens to you. Who do you think ran and got Hershel when Andrea shot you?"

He didn't reply. She had to be lying. She had to be. There was no way she could be telling the truth. Yet he remembered seeing her face, and remembered the shock and anxiety writ across her features.

He didn't acknowledge her comment. She took the silence as incentive to continue.

"I did. Who the hell do you think volunteered to watch you all night? Hm? Because Andrea damn sure didn't."

She was trying to get a rise out of him, he knew it. He would shut her up good enough.

He rolled over and glared blackly at her. "Woman, who the fuck do you think saved your scrawny ass when you passed out in the middle of the fuckin' driveway?"

She bit her lower lip. "Touché."

"Thought so."

They lapsed into tense silence, he glaring at anything that wasn't her (right then it was the ceiling) and she absently rubbing her ankles and staring out the window.

"Why did you kiss me, Daryl?"

The question startled him. That had been a week ago, why had she waited until now to bring it up? He racked his brain for an answer that wouldn't make him seem like a pig. There was no way he would let himself tell her how he really felt, no one could be allowed to know that. No one. Not even Merle. Especially not Merle.

He still wouldn't look at her. She clicked on the lamp on the side table to get a better look at him.

"Fuckin look at me when you talk to me, okay?" She demanded. The indignation (and hurt) in her voice was brutally apparent.

Still he wouldn't answer. She took it the wrong way, of course. Women always did.

"Oh so that's it? It was a fluke? It meant _nothing to you? _Nothing?" She was standing now, pacing across the floor. Daryl could hear her bare feet shuffle across the hardwood. "Am I just another piece of ass for you, Daryl? Is that it? Have I finally hit the nail on the head?"

"Wasn't a fluke. You ain't no cheap whore." He muttered finally. "Thought you coulda guessed that by now."

This seemed to deflate her just a little. She pouted and chewed her lower lip, turning away from him and pacing still. She was making him antsy moving around like that so much, acting like a caged tiger that wants to be set free.

"Could you sit, Kyra?" he asked finally. "Stop pacin' like that, it's makin' me nervous."

She shot a glance at him and complied, flopping down into the chair. He found it highly confusing how her emotions could so easily flit from one end of the spectrum to the other so rapidly.

"Yeah." She mumbled, almost too low for him to hear. "Sorry 'bout that, then. Didn't mean to bitch."

He sat up and shrugged, swinging his legs over the end of the bed so his feet touched the floor. He leaned on his hands and watched her carefully, as if he was on babysitting duty and not she.

She was sitting crosslegged in the chair, picking absently at her fingernails. Every now and then she would sneak a glance at him and then look away suddenly, a shy, private smile stealing across her features. She was acting like a school girl, he thought. He found it quite cute, though.

"So it wasn't a fluke then." She murmured, more to herself than to him. Now she seemed almost delighted. He was sure that if she were to actually look at him the look on her face would be positively radiant.

"Nope."

The chair was close enough that their knees were almost touching. Daryl could smell the faint odor of dish soap, still lingering on her hands. She looked at him from under her eyebrows and he was confused. The radiance was gone. Something else, something pensive and brooding, had taken its place.

She yawned hugely and rubbed her eyes, passing a hand through her hair. She looked for all the world like she felt about a thousand years old.

"You tired?" Daryl swung his legs back up onto the bed and scooched away from her, leaving an empty patch for her if she wanted. He wasn't about to let her sleep in a chair, for Chrissake's. No way in hell.

"Yeah a little." She glanced at the patch of bed he'd cleared for her and filled it without a second thought.

But instead of snuggling up to him like he'd hoped, she just laid on her back and stared at the ceiling, her hands folded neatly on her stomach and her eyes locked on the fan. There was a good six inches of space between them.

She looked almost uncomfortable. He wondered if it was his fault.

"I ain't gonna rape you or nothin'." He put out, in an awkward attempt to break the silence.

For a moment her hazel eyes flickered to him and then were glued back to the ceiling. "I know." She answered quietly.

He flopped down and buried his face in the nearest pillow, trying to hide his frustration with the woman. Why the fuck couldn't she just settle on one emotion and stick with it for the rest of the goddamn night?

"And I mean," She continued, almost as if talking to herself, "Even when—if we do have sex, I mean, it's not like it's… it won't really… I don't know. I mean, we kinda can't deny that we're attracted to each other but we don't know what would… not that it would matter…"

He rolled onto his side and folded his arms. "Woman, what the hell are you getting' at?"

She sighed forcefully and closed her eyes. "In a weird, roundabout way I'm trying to say that I can't have kids. And that I don't know how that will affect our relationship or whatever the hell this is at all or what." She blurted, the words pouring forth like water from a bottle.

Silence hung between them like a curtain. Daryl broke it.

"You think I care whether or not you can have kids?"

She shrugged. "I dunno; just thought I'd tell you."

"It don't mean you ain't whole or nothin'."

"Daryl, I…" She trailed off, unsure of how to finish her thought.

"You what?"

"I… I think we're in love with each other. We just don't wanna show it too awful much so we won't have to acknowledge that it's real and that we stand a chance at losing it, if we ain't careful."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. "Sounds about right to me." He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly. "Now hush. You need to sleep."

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In the morning, Hershel poked his head in the door to check on Daryl and relieve Kyra of her watch duty. He felt his face redden at the sight before him.

They were curled up against each other, both of them fast asleep. It was obvious to Hershel that they hadn't had sex; rather, they had simply wound up sleeping together in the most innocent sense of the phrase.

Daryl's arms were around her and it seemed to Hershel that for once in her life, Kyra looked happy. Really, truly happy.

He caught himself smiling and withdrew from the room silently, leaving them to sleep in peace.

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**Alright, so that's that done. Don't know what I'm gonna do now that S2 is over… poor Jimmy haha… Don't forget to review! Feedback makes my day. Please and thank you. **

**Chapter… seven, I think the next one will be? Will be up sometime before season 3 starts… God willin' and the creek don't rise. Night y'all. **


	7. Empty, Pt I

**Hey y'all! Sorry this took so long to come out. Chapter Seven is always the hardest for me. Thanks to Leyshla Gisel, Haven14 and GypsyWitchBaby for all y'alls consistent reviews. And a mega shout-out to mrsdaisybuchanan, without whom I would still be lost and staring blankly at my comp screen. Y'all should go read her story "Backwoods", especially all you Caryl fans. ;) It's freakin AWESOME. **

**This chapter's song is "Empty" by Ray LaMontagne. His voice is like butter, go look him up. This will be the song for the next two chapters, I do believe. So definitely go look it up.**

**Any and all disclaimers apply. **

**Oh and don't forget to review! :D**

Walkers poured forth in a mid-tempo stampede, and the sounds of gunshots broke the morning stillness to a thousand separate pieces. The walker that was once Beth's mother crept forward. The blonde girl rushed forward only to be thrown back by Andrea, who quickly dispatched the geek with a pickaxe to the brain.

The gunfire slowed, then ceased entirely as a single, grungy tennis shoe eked out of the shadows, soon followed by the body it was attached to.

Carol screamed brokenly and rushed forward to the little walker, only to be caught and held back by Daryl and reduced to sobbing and keening into the dirt as the redneck attempted to calm her, futile words of comfort falling on deaf ears.

Kyra felt the blood drain from her face and the tears well up into her eyes as she realized that this little monster, this creature, could only be Sophia. She tasted the bile rising up into her throat and had to cover her mouth and swallow it back.

Shooting a walker on the side of the road was one thing.

This was completely different.

Reverently and yet somehow strangely detached, Rick stepped forward and leveled his revolver at Sophia's head.

The only sound after the final shot was the wails and sobs of Sophia's mother as Daryl patiently led her back to the RV.

Kyra sat on the porch steps and waited till Daryl had left the RV before seeking him out.

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She let the underbrush crunch beneath her feet to signal her approach and not alarm him. From where she was standing, she could see him sitting with his back against the ruins of the old chimney, a bottle of Jack in his hand. His body language betrayed his fury as he took another pull from the bottle. Kyra steeled herself and marched up to him, until they were almost toe to toe and she was standing over him.

He gave he a look of fire and brimstone but she didn't back down. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and asked:

"How you doin'?"

" 'M fine." He grunted. "Don't need your pity."

She scoffed. "You think I came here to pity you, Daryl? I came out here because I want to know how you're taking all of this." She unfolded one arm and pointed back in the direction of the barn.

Daryl shot to his feet and glared down at her. "Fine. You wanna know how I'm takin' all a this? Woman, I'll fuckin' tell you how I'm takin' all of this. I'm fuckin' pissed, is how I'm takin' all a this, because I promised Carol that I'd get her little girl back safe and I didn't! I let her down and I broke m' promise! Satisfied now?" Before she could fire back at him, he scooped up the bottle and holed up in the tent.

Kyra watched him storm away and sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, taking a couple deep breaths before following him inside.

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The zipper opened slowly and Kyra slipped in without a word. Daryl refused to so much as look at her, let alone give her the satisfaction of speaking to her. He could feel her kneeling by his side; her knees were barely brushing his back. So they sat there in silence. He knew she was watching him, staring at him, he felt her eyes on him. The silence continued for he didn't know how long, until it became unbearable and his patience waned.

"What the hell do you want now?" He snapped. Maybe if he continued to be an ass she would leave him alone and he could get shitfaced in peace. He continued to glare at the opposite side of the tent from her.

"Daryl," She said quietly. His head turned at the sound of his name, the tenderness in her voice. This woman never ceased to confuse him. Then he realized what he had done and jerked his head away quickly. This action only seemed to make her more determined.

"Look at me please." She continued softly. Her voice was low, insistent. Intimate, even. Without knowing why his brain defied his warnings and he was looking into her hazel eyes. Her hands cupped his face; her hair was falling around her shoulders and her face. She stroked his cheekbone with the ball of her thumb. "I worry about you, you know."

She pressed her lips against his. Before he really knew what he was doing, he was kissing her back, all his reservations and paranoia gone, leaving him needy and suddenly horny as all hell.

He grabbed her by the arms and rolled her beneath him, kissing from her mouth to her cheek to her jaw and then sucking and nibbling at the little hollow space between her throat and her collarbone. She gasped a little and her back arched beneath him, giving him room to slide his hands up her back and fumble with the clasp of her bra, damned thing that it was.

He continued to nip her neck and shoulders, gently, until he lost it a little and bit down just a smidge too hard. She yelped like a beat dog, and his eyes were on hers again. God, he could stare at them forever.

"I ain't gonna hurt you, Kyra." He mumbled when his brain finally remembered how to speak, kissing the place where he'd bit too hard.

And then she was on top, kissing him hard and running one through his hair and the other across his chest and down to his belt buckle. "I know."

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Kyra lay on her side, watching him sleep and wishing he wasn't so hard on himself and everybody else. _Mama always said, best to take men as they are 'cause you damn sure can't change 'em. _Kyra smiled at the memory. She thought her mama would have liked Daryl, if she were still alive. And her daddy had always wanted her to end up with a man who could protect her if she couldn't protect herself for some god-awful reason. She figured Daryl would have done so even if her daddy hadn't asked it of him.

She sighed quietly and sat up, reaching around for her clothes and redressing as quietly as she could. Daryl was still snoring softly beside her. She watched him for a moment, then leaned over and kissed his temple lingeringly, and murmured in his ear that she'd be up in the house if he needed her for anything, anything at all.

And then she was gone.

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Even though Daryl had long since stopped caring what the hour was, he still wasn't totally sure how long he had slept for. All he knew right then was that he hadn't gotten laid like that since before the dead were walking. That woman… he grinned madly and rolled over, hoping to maybe get a little more lovin' out of her.

Thing was, she wasn't there.

He shot up and dressed quickly, barely even getting his jeans on before lumbering out of the tent and scrambling around for his crossbow. Where the fuck had she gone to? She could be anywhere, anything could happen to her. And if he remembered right, she didn't have her sword with her. He'd have noticed it when he took her jeans off of her. He made a mental note to get that girl a gun and teach her how to fire it, he didn't care how much she didn't like them, she was gonna buck up and deal with it.

He started towards the house, and then he remembered what she had said.

_"I'll be up at the house, Daryl, if you need me for anything at all."_

This followed by the memory of the press of lips—her lips—to his forehead, and then she was… she was gone. He could have throttled her, right then and there, for leaving him in his sleep and not having the courtesy to at least wake him so he wouldn't be in this position when he got up.

He kicked a nearby tree and cussed a blue streak, crawling back into his tent and curling up with the bottle of Jack. She shouldn't have left him like that anyways. He wasn't done with her yet and besides, it was flat out rude. It wasn't like he was a cheap two-dollar whore. Dammit. Maybe—just maybe—his brain had again fooled him. Not that he could blame himself for screwing her. She was pretty goddamn hot when she was naked. But being in love with her? Fat chance. She was just like the rest of them, come to use him once and then just leaving him for dead, pretty much. Still, though, a small and calmly rational voice in the back of his head told him otherwise. She had chores to attend to, stuff to do. Laundry and woman things, shit like that. Least she wasn't like Andrea, who was completely useless and always having to act like a hard ass tough guy even though Daryl was pretty sure that there was more than enough incriminating evidence to mark the blonde woman as female.

He drank quickly—more like gulped, really. The alcohol burned its way down his throat and settled into his stomach, a knot of amber warmth. His nerves calmed a fraction and he breathed deeply, trying to find his Zen. He crashed face first onto the sleeping bag and could have died right there.

If he hadn't have known otherwise, he would have sworn that Kyra was lying next to him, maybe even in the sleeping bag. It smelled that strongly of her sweat and her skin and sex and God only knew what else.

Daryl breathed in deeply and shuddered convulsively at the memory of her body moving against his, her lips pressed against him. He grabbed the bottle and took another pull, and then another, and another, and another, and another, and then one more for good measure. He knew he was drunk, very, very drunk, drunk almost to the point of blacking out. He could feel it coming on. And quite frankly he couldn't give less of a flying fuck who said anything about it. By God he had just gotten laid and he was gonna celebrate! Why the fuck she decided she needed to run back to the "safety" of the house he had no idea. She was damn well protected with him, which made the whole thing make even less sense to him. But he didn't care right then, and kept drinking. Maybe, he thought, he did something wrong. He'd certainly left women before, those who had been a shitty lay and a waste of his night. But he knew damn well she'd enjoyed it quite a lot. His memories served to corroborate that fact. Maybe that was all she wanted, the sex. At this Daryl threw the bottle across the tent and rolled over, drifting off into the thick, dark sleep of the very inebriated.

When he woke, his instincts told him he wasn't alone.

**Sorry to all you fluff fans out here but this was the end of major-fluffdom for the next couple chaps, cause it gets more serious from here. I'll update by next week, I promise. **


	8. Empty, Pt II, or Paper Airlplane

**Hey y'all! And Happy Ishtar. I would like to present to you chapter eight of Running Away Never Works. To paraphrase, the fluff stops here. Things get a lot more serious between Daryl and Kyra from here on out. Again, the title song is Empty, by Ray Lamontagne, along with "Paper Airplane" by AIison Krauss. Thanks to all who reviewed and favorited. I think someone even put me on their Favorite Authors list. Boy that made me happy. :P And to those of y'all who put me on Author Alert: Thank you so much. I feel like that's the biggest compliment you can get in this site. Y'all know who y'all are. ;) **

**So before we gets started, let me address a couple reviews: **

**GypsyWitchBaby: Sorry to disappoint. But that's not how this story unfolded for me. *sheepish face***

**Leyshla Gisel: Here's why I didn't do that. There's a fine line between literary sex and porn. A lot of authors will jump from the first romantic overture to the morning after, because sex is one of the hardest things to write descriptively. If I was to write the sex, it would have had to have some sort of symbolic meaning. But since it didn't I skipped over it. You dig? :P**

**Nelle07: He is isn't he? I like to think that's why he's such a favorite on the show. **

**Drummerchick06: Thank you. I try. **

**England101: Why thank you! Daryl needs a strong and independent woman. :P**

**RainbowShelby: Thanks! More is on the way! :D**

When he woke, his instincts told him he wasn't alone.

"Wouldn' think aboud it too much, li'l brother, 'f I were you. You know good 'n damn well why she left ya."

Dammit, he knew that voice. He swiveled his head around to see Merle sitting cross-legged next to him.

"Fuck you, Merle." He slurred, chuckling to himself. The rational side of his brain screamed at him that Merle was gone and didn't give a shit about him.

"Naw, man, you think about it. She done up an' left you. I tol' you all she wanted was some cock."

"Fuck you, man, she coulda gone to Shane for that."

"I'm tellin' ya, baby brother, all she gon' do is hurt ya. You gotta separate yerself from th' likes a her."  
>"Shut the fuck up, you don't know 'er like I do."<p>

"Ah think I do, baby brother. She ain't nothin' but trouble, leaving you like a empty Bud can or a used rubber on the side a th' road."

"What're ya sayin'?"

"Dumbass, I'm sayin' leave 'er. Why the hell else would I a tried to beat some sense into yer thick skull? Jesus boy, ain't you ever gonna learn that ain't nobody gonna care about you 'cept me?"

"You got a point, brother…" Daryl's eyelids grew steadily heavier and he couldn't stop himself from falling asleep again.

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Daryl still had no idea how long he was asleep for. Judging by the sunlight that was adding to his already vicious hangover, it was maybe about noon. He reckoned he'd slept through the rest of yesterday and into today. Or maybe longer. Either way, he didn't know. Instead of hunting he stayed to himself, only just now completely at a loss over the death of Sophia. Sure he he'd fucked Kyra, but the little girl he'd promised to find was dead.

During Sophia's funeral, he noticed Kyra standing some distance away from him, staring at the ground with her hands in her back pockets. She looked like she was feeling guilty over something she'd done. He disregarded it at first, but then Merle's words from last night returned to him. He shook them off and glanced back over at Kyra. Sure enough, she was still looking just as guilty as she had a moment ago. Again, Merle's words rang in his memory like gnats buzzing about his ears.

_(All she gon' do is hurt'cha. She ain't nothin' but trouble. Ain't you ever gonna learn that ain't nobody gonna care about you 'cept me?) _

Daryl tried to push his brother out of his head. Really, he did. He let his mind wander back to that night, to the crush of their bodies against each other, hoping it would distract him from his brother's nagging. But then that only brought him back to where he was. After trying and trying for hours unsuccessfully, Daryl gave in. Once again, Merle was right and he was wrong.

Rage bubbled up, simmering and seething just far enough below the surface to be out of sight.

Later that day she found him again at his campsite, re-fletching some of the older bolts.

"Carol wanted me to talk to you." She said matter-of-factly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "She's afraid you're gonna pull away from the group."

"Why you say that?" He wouldn't look at her. Let the whore talk her way into her own trap first. Then he'd get her good.

Her voice got quieter. "I don't… I don't want… We've already lost too many people in too short a time, Daryl. I don't want to lose you too."

He carefully set down the arrows and glared at her. "You don't, huh? Why not, 'cause you won't have anyone to fuck anymore? I hear from Andrea Shane's a pretty good lay, if you don't mind pigs. Why don't you try him since you're done with me?" The look he fixed on her could have frozen Hell in an instant.

Her face blanched then burned bright red. "What the fuck are you talking about?" She retorted, shocked and hurt and confused.

Daryl stood and rounded on her. "I know you think I'm just another stupid, horny redneck, but I'm smarter than you think. Did you really think I was going to be dumb enough to not realize that all you wanted from me was sex?" (_I loved you, bitch, and you fucking ruined it)_

Kyra could have slapped him. What the fuck was he getting at? How dare he…

"Where did all of this come from, Daryl?" She demanded, carefully reigning in her temper. "What happened to thinking we were in love with each other? Or were you lying to me instead of the other way around?"

He put his face dangerously close to hers and gritted his teeth. "Woman, don't you play innocent with me. Whatever kind of relationship you think we had, it's over. We rushed into it, alright? It's done. Get out of my sight."

She took a deep breath and cleared her face of any emotion, gazing coolly at him with a blank expression. But he could see the rage and denial and hurt and maybe even hatred burning in her eyes like wildfire, along with the effort it took her to hold it back. She was clenching her fists, for one thing. Her knuckles were bone white.

"That's the way it's gonna be then?" She choked out at last. Her voice was close to breaking; her heart was well past it. "Fine; I had fun last night. Shame it won't be anything more than a one night stand."

With that she turned on her heel and stormed back to the house.

"Good riddance, bitch." He muttered, returning to his arrows.

So that was it. They were done. Daryl should have been relieved.

But he wasn't.

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Kyra slipped back into the house, ghosting on silent feet up to her room. Maggie was off somewhere, Hershel was out doing something around the farm. Beth was supposed to be helping Carol and Lori with the laundry, Patricia was canning something. So if she was quiet she'd get left alone.

As soon as she reached the little bedroom she shared with Maggie, she closed the door quietly so as not to alarm Patricia, and sank back against the door. Sobs racked her body, despair and agony the likes of which she had never felt before. How the hell could he do this to her? Was he really as insensitive and pigheaded as he seemed at first glance? What had she done wrong? She felt like something had torn her heart out of her chest and fed it through a meat grinder while it still beat. The pain was almost physical, she hurt so bad. How could she let him do this to her? She was stronger than that. Why had she chosen to open herself up to him in the first place? It might have been because she had put out for him. No, that couldn't be it. But still, the even the insinuation of it made her feel like a slut.

She sat there and cried for a good hour and a half until someone came looking for her. She lifted a hand up and locked the door, sniffling and wallowing in her own misery.

"Kyra? Are you in there honey?" Carol. Christ Almighty and the twelve disciples, why did it have to be Carol? Fuck.

"Yeah." The younger woman croaked. "I'm in here."

"You don't sound too good. Can I come in, please?"

Dammit. This was a catch-22 if she'd ever seen one. Either way she would be admitting something was wrong. Might as well suck it up and deal with it. That was what her daddy would have told her to do about it, at least.

"Yeah. Hang on." She unlocked the door and moved over to the window, her back towards the door so that her tear-stained face wasn't visible right off.

Carol entered quietly and shut the door behind her. "Did you talk to Daryl?"

At the mention of the redneck's name, Kyra's throat tightened and she choked back a fresh onslaught of tears. She was only able to nod.

Carol saw the tears and gasped quietly. The older woman moved around and put a hand on Kyra's arm. "What happened, Kyra? I know Daryl's a little harsh but you have to try not to take it personally, it's just how he is."

The irony was humorless but amusing nonetheless. _And don't I know it._ Kyra thought. But of course she couldn't tell Carol that.

"He loves you, you know. Daryl." Carol continued, like she was trying to comfort Kyra in some way.

It struck Kyra as odd. Carol was the one who had just lost her daughter. Shouldn't she be the one comforting the older woman instead of the other way around? Instead Kyra just turned away, almost as is she was hiding bruises that weren't there. Her hand flew to the hollow of her throat; she could almost feel his arms around her again.

"No he doesn't." She whispered brokenly.

And then she lost it again. She wailed and blubbered, curled up into a ball on the floor. Carol knelt beside her and rubbed her back, not asking what had happened, even though she was certainly surprised at this turn of events.

When the younger woman's sobs had resided some, Carol gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know he does, Kyra. I've seen it in the way he watches you. He adores you, and I don't think he could get by without you."

Kyra simply stared out the window. To Carol, she looked like a lost child caught in the rain. Utterly miserable and hopeless at the same time. She knew that look. It was the same one she'd worn on so many long nights before when Ed would beat her within an inch of her life.

The words echoed in Kyra's head.

(_He loves you, you know. Daryl.)_

_(Whatever kind of relationship you think we had, it's over. It's done. Get out of my sight)_

_(I know he does) _

Chills ran down Carol's spine as she watched the younger woman's face harden and her voice go cold and flat.

"No, Carol. He doesn't. I know that now." Kyra sat up and wiped her eyes, her face dark and stormy. She stared out the window, unconsciously clenching and unclenching her fist.

See if she would ever have anything to do with Daryl Dixon again.

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**Dun dun dunnnn! Another cliffhanger! Stay tuned for more, peeps! Don't forget to review! **


	9. Not Strong Enough

**Helloooooo! It's been a while, hasn't it? This chapter took a while to really gel like it did… It's the longest one so far, so bear with me haha. So, the chapter song is "Not Strong Enough" by Apocalyptica and Brent Smith of Shinedown. Buwhahahahaha! Couple things first: thanks to all of y'all who reviewed and favorite and alreted! And the biggest thanks to the lovely and talented mrsdaisybuchanan for all her marvelous help and editorial abilities. Go read her story Backwoods! Seriously. It's awesome. And also, a little shout out to my two non-internet readers. You know who you are. Thanks to both of y'all as well. **

**And without further ado, I give you chapter Nine. Enjoy and don't forget to review! **

**Usual disclaimers apply. I own nothing. Sadly. **

Daryl glared at the squirming little bitch handcuffed to the wall. Randall. Was that his name?

"Hey, hey man, I didn't do nothin', man, I was, I was just taggin' along, ya know? I—, I mean it gets a little rowdy sometimes but they're all good guys, there was…" here the kid coughed up more blood and breathed raggedly. "There was this one guy, he had these two daughters, man they were pretty… But—but, hey I ain't like that, I don't…""

Daryl scowled and punched him hard in the jaw. Blood poured out of the kid's nose. Good. He was gonna have more than just a little nosebleed by the time Daryl was done with him.

"You're tellin' me your little buddies think they're gonna come in here? Get my boys? Take this farm? And you think cause you were along for the ride you were _innocent?"_

More blows rained down. Randall was slumped over, spitting up blood.

Daryl was seeing red. So they raped women too, the bastards. His mind flashed instantly to what might happen if this kid's group found the farm. He could only think of one thing.

_Kyra._

She was easily the prettiest one on the property; she would be the one they went for first. They would have a hell of a time subduing her, but with thirty grown men they would succeed eventually. And then… He would be dead by the time they had her, dead and no way to protect and save her. He'd be damned if he let that happen.

Disgust clouded his face as he turned and kicked Randall over and over, beating him within an inch of his life.

"You're tellin' me your little buddies think they're gonna come in here? Get my boys? Take this farm? And you think cause you were along for the ride you were _innocent_?"

_(You're gonna get a thousand times worse than this if you or any of the sick fucks you run with think you're gonna lay a hand on _my_ woman) _

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Daryl's arms were sore and his knuckles were bloody when he left the slaughter shed. After what Randall had "let slip", he wasn't going to take any chances. Most of the group—Rick, Lori, Carol, Glenn, T-Dog, Dale, and Carol—was clustered at the outskirts of their camp. Carol took one look at Daryl and blanched.

"What did you do to him?" She asked the hunter, aghast.

"We had a little chat." Daryl replied tersely, leveling his line of sight towards Rick.

"So? What'd he say?" The sheriff asked expectantly.

Daryl shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "They got thirty men and plenty a guns. If they find the farm, our boys'll be dead and our women… well, they'll wish they were."

Rick nodded curtly. "That settles it. He's a threat, and he must be taken care of."

"You can't do this!" Dale broke in. "This is a young man's life here! You can't just decide to take someone's life!"

The look that Rick fixed the old man spoke volumes.

"Please," Dale begged, "Give me one day to talk to everybody and see if I can change their minds."

"Alright." Rick conceded. "You've got till sundown. Then we decide."

Daryl watched the exchange with only passing interest. His "chat" with Randall had convinced him of something, and he intended to see that something through. Problem was, he wasn't the one to carry it out exactly.

Before Rick stalked off to do whatever it was he was going to do, Daryl stopped him for a second, feeling a bit like he was asking too much of the sheriff.

"What can I do for ya?" The ease with which Rick asked this settled Daryl's anxiety, if only a little bit.

"I need you t' do me a favor." He asked the sheriff gruffly, darting little glances back at the house to make sure Kyra didn't show up out of nowhere.

Rick looked wary at first. "Sure, what is it?"

"You know how much Kyra hates guns right?"

"Yeah. Think that much is common knowledge now, with that sword and all. So what's your favor?"

"Need you to teach her how to shoot. But don't tell her it was my idea. Hell, man, don't even mention me at all. Pretend like it was your idea." Daryl again glanced at the house. She was nowhere to be seen, thank God.

Rick cracked a smile and chuckled. "Why not you? She's your girl, right?"

Daryl looked at his feet. "She an' I… Look, I just don't want her to get caught in a bad way is all. And you seemed like the best one fer th' job, t' boot. Can't exactly ask Shane, she'd shoot his nuts off 'n make it look like an accident."

Rick clapped him on the shoulder and gave the younger man another, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. She's in good hands."

Daryl only nodded as Rick walked away, presumably to find Kyra so that they could get started.

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Kyra leveled the gun at the row of targets, squeezing off a round hesitantly. She hated guns, that much was common knowledge around the farm. But somehow Rick had managed to get her out of her comfort zone and was teaching her to shoot them. She proved a good student, Rick thought. She was calm, cool-tempered. Quiet even. In short, almost everything Daryl wasn't. He'd seen the two of them together before. They acted like nothing was going on between them but the way they looked at each other said otherwise. Rick had to smile at it; it reminded him of when he had started dating Lori. But what had happened with them? The way Daryl had acted this morning had sent red flags up in Rick's mind. Why was he so insistent on Kyra not knowing that he had asked Rick to teach her to shoot? The sheriff shook his head and returned his focus to Kyra. He had other things to worry about instead of the redneck's romantic problems.

Glass broke, and Rick smiled when he saw that she had hit the third target in a row. Right now she was firing a Glock handgun. He gave her an approving smile and called out, "Range cold!" before moving closer to analyze the targets.

Kyra lowered the pistol and watched silently as Rick probed around the old fence, being careful not to step on any large pieces of glass. She was a damn good shot for a first timer. He motioned for her to come here as he righted the tin cans now riddled with bullet holes.

"Your only problem," he told her, "Is that when you shoot, you yank the trigger back instead of squeezing it gently back and firing. Other than that you did great."

She seemed quietly proud of herself. Her right hand rested on the hilt of her sword and the left held the gun.

"Thanks." She said quietly. All too well, Rick was reminded of Carol before Ed died. She was too quiet, too… withdrawn. He chalked it up to… what? It was like she had sucked into herself. The outgoing young woman who'd so cheerfully contributed, who was vibrant and warm and sociable, was suddenly gone, instead replaced by this solemn, silent ghost. He couldn't help but wonder again if this had anything to do with Daryl. Or maybe she had taken on his grief for him; it was right after Sophia died that she had changed so suddenly.

For a second he almost asked her about it but bit his tongue instead.

"Well, I should probably get going and get back to the house. Help Lori carry stuff inside and all. She shouldn't be over-exerting herself, for both her and the baby's sake." She sighed. "Thanks for the lesson." She held the pistol out for Rick to take, but he deferred.

"You keep it. You're gonna need it later on down the road, wouldn't want you caught in a bad way without it." His words echoed Daryl's. But the hunter seemed to be the farthest thing from her now, if what Daryl's demeanor had betrayed was true.

She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans and made for the house. Rick followed her at a distance. He noted Daryl walking towards the house as well. He hung back and observed. People watching had been an old favorite of his, especially back when he and Shane were on patrol in King County.

Kyra didn't seem to be able to see Daryl from where she was. Rick sidled over to a nearby tree and watched curiously from behind cover. He surmised that Daryl had seen her, and he seemed to be ignoring her presence. This was odd. Rick had been under the impression that the two were head over heels for each other, even if they tried to hide it.

Kyra glanced to her right—in Daryl's direction. Rick could only assume that she had realized the redneck was coming towards her, and that she didn't want to be around him. She ducked her head, looked away from him and quickly continued into the house, shutting the door behind her a little harder than was necessary. It was obvious to Rick that something about Daryl made her uncomfortable.

Rick expected Daryl to fume. Yank the door open and demand to know why she had slammed the door in his face. It was the only response that fit Daryl's personality.

Much to his surprise, he didn't. Instead he backed away and retreated in the direction he had come. But not before pausing with one foot still on the bottom step and looking over his shoulder at the closed front door behind him.

Something flashed across Daryl's face then. Rick couldn't place it exactly but it was something, something akin to longing and regret mixed together. As soon as it appeared, it was gone, and Daryl lumbered off without a second glance.

The sheriff frowned. Whatever had happened between them, it had been bad. From what he could tell by just watching them, they both hurt. It reminded him of those sappy romance movies Lori used to make him watch. But Kyra seemed hell bound and determined to avoid Daryl at all costs.

He heard someone calling his name, and made a mental note to keep an eye on her, just in case. She was still the newest member of the group. This little incident told him that she (and possibly Daryl as well) would require some observation.

00000000

Everyone was seated in the living room, except for Daryl, who stood off to the side and leaned against the chest of drawers. Kyra was perched on the sofa between Maggie and the wall, staring stonily ahead, the sack with her sketchbook and pencils in it sitting innocently between her feet. She knew Daryl was watching her. Idly, she wondered if he felt vindicated after successful breaking her down to such a low state of being. She only half-listened to what Dale had to say. Honestly, she couldn't care less. Randall was a non-issue as far as she was concerned.

Her ears perked up though, when she heard Dale argue, "If we do this, we're saying there's no hope."

She felt her lips curl up into a cynical smirk, and a derisive, silent laugh escape her lungs. "You may think so, but you're wrong." Her lips formed the words as she thought them and they tumbled out like water rushing through rapids.

Her eyes flickered up to see Dale's face colored with shock and disbelief. "But there is still hope, Kyra. Come on, you know in your heart it's true."

She respected the old man. Really, she did. But at his words, she could taste the anger burning inside her and radiating from her pores. She stood slowly and glared at him. Raw, white hot anger blazing within and without.

"Don't try to feed us anymore bullshit about hope, Dale. The world we knew, the world we had? It's dead. It's gone. It ain't comin' back. Now, it really doesn't matter to me either way if we kill Randall if if we just cut him loose out across the county line. But I cannot abide this shit about hope and love and charity and what have you." Her voice broke, against her will. She felt her face heat as her eyes welled up. "It doesn't exist anymore in this world. None of it does. Don't delude yourself anymore."

"Kyra, what are you—" Dale began in a desperate attempt to make her see his point.

"No. Don't say anything else to me. I don't want a part in this decision."

She picked up her bag and stalked out.

Rick, Dale and Hershel all three cast a questioning look at Daryl. It read: _What was that about? Go make sure she's alright, please?_

He nodded imperceptibly and snatched out at her hand. The skin of her palm was warm and flushed. She yanked her hand away from him, pushing him out of the way.

Daryl stayed where he was, turning his head so he couldn't see their faces anymore. She wanted nothing to do with him.

She hated him. That much was crystal clear.

00000000

If Daryl hadn't heard the screams, the piece of shit might have already been dead.

He dropped the kid and tore across the farm, slinging the crossbow from around his shoulders as he ran.

It was Dale.

The old man was lying on the ground, practically gutted already. Daryl hurled himself at the geek that did it, stabbing his knife into its brain and tossing it aside.

He yelled for help, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Kyra heard the cries and her heart stopped. She knew that voice. It was Daryl. Her head told her to stay put, to let him suffer.

But her heart told her otherwise.

She was spurred to movement by the sight of Rick and the others running like hell in Daryl's direction. She slung the sack with her sketchbook and pencils in it onto her shoulder nd took off after them, only just remembering to draw her gun.

When she reached the small crowd gathered around Daryl and something else, she felt her heart break and guilt flood over her.

Dale was splayed out on the grass, gasping for breath, his insides spilling out of his abdomen.

Everyone watched in sick, shocked horror as Hershel knelt by Dale's dying body and declared him unfit to be moved.

Andrea was sobbing openly, along with Lori and Carl. Glenn held onto Maggie and the young couple cried quietly. Kyra felt hot, stinging tears pour down her face. She hated herself then. The last thing she had said to Dale was that he was delusional. And now here he was, dying in such a visceral, painful way. What the hell had she been thinking?

She watched as Daryl took the pistol from Rick's helpless, shaking hand and knelt by Dale's head.

"Sorry, brother." He mumbled, and squeezed the trigger.

After the shot's echoes faded into the winter, Daryl stood vigil over Dale's body until he was sure everyone else was gone.

He turned to leave, and let Rick, Hershel and Shane carry the body away.

He had moved it barely a foot before he saw her.

She was curled in on herself, shaking and convulsing in uncontrollable grief.

His heart broke for her. The last thing he wanted to bear was her hurting. He took a step towards her, tentatively reaching out a hand and saying her name quietly.

At the brush of his fingertips on her arm, she jerked her head up and stared at him wildly.

Never had he seen such unbridled emotion, not even from her.

"Kyra, hey. I wanna help you. Please." He began awkwardly.

The look in her eyes would haunt him for years to come. Was it fear, or was it hatred? Or worse, some third, darker thing he didn't know? When she spoke her voice was hoarse, roughened from crying so much.

"Get away from me." She spat, recoiling back and stumbling to her feet.

He watched in silence, fighting back so many conflicting emotions that it was difficult to choose one to express. He chewed his lower lip and returned to is vigil.

Something in the grass caught his eye. He reached for it and picked it up. His hands were shaking when he realized that this was her beloved sketchbook, probably fallen out of her bag when she came running.

It felt profane to even hold it, let alone open it. It was, for her, the equivalent of any other girl's diary. He knew the extent of her drawing abilities. Idly he wondered if she had drawn him any.

He glanced at the house in the distance, backlit by the moon and the light from the windows, and wondered what she was thinking now. He had been a fool to try and help her, he knew that much. She would have nothing to do with him.

Nonetheless, he was torn between leaving the notebook there or taking it back to his small camp and keeping it safe. If she knew that he had it, she would undoubtedly seek him out and make him pay. He would let her, though, dish out whatever it took for her to exact her vengeance. But at what cost? He would be weak if he let her. So he might as well just leave it. But then she would be upset because the dew would make the pages wrinkled and bleed through.

Against his better judgment, he tucked the little volume under his arm and slipped off into the night. He would return it to her later, when she was less distraught, as a sign of reconciliation. Till such a time, though, he tucked it into one of the bike's saddlebags for safekeeping.

He stopped just before entering the tent and looked back in the direction of the house. She was up there, sleeping calmly and peacefully. He could only wish she was here with him.

00000000

She was in her house, the old duplex they'd lived in before the world ended. Everything was exactly the same. The pictures on the wall still hung in their frames. The TV was on, broadcasting the Georgia –Georgia Tech game. There was even a faint smell of coffee and sausage leftover from breakfast that morning. Kyra padded silently through the house. It was as still and quiet as a tomb. She peeked into every room, and every closet, but no one was to be found. She opened the door to the garage; there was her dad's county-issue cruiser parked next to his truck. She walked out and rifled through the truck box; the shotgun was still there, along with the emergency kit and the flash light and any other of a dozen things her father kept in there.

But where were Daddy and everyone else?

Kyra shook her head and reentered the house. She picked up the house phone and dialed Mitchell's number. He should have been here by now. She got his voicemail. Even her boyfriend wasn't picking up the phone.

All of a sudden something didn't feel right.

Mitchell never let her calls go to voicemail. He claimed good boyfriends didn't do that unless they couldn't help it. Daddy never left his cruiser parked out like that, especially when no one was home. And Mama was almost always home, along with her little brother Jake.

Kyra grabbed a large butcher knife from the block beneath the kitchen sink and prowled the rest of the house. No sign of life.

She kicked the screen door open with the toe of her shoe and stepped out into the crisp fall sunshine.

The knife dropped from her hands.

They were geeks, roaming about the yard with the directional abilities of bumper cars and all the steady focus of a hound on a scent. Mama, Daddy, Jake, Mitchell. All of them. Even the dog was one of _them._

The breeze shifted; she was downwind.

The small group of walkers suddenly turned in her direction. She turned and ran, screaming at the top of her lungs like the female lead in a bad slasher flick.

The sounds of her screams attracted more walkers from the surrounding houses. Shortly there was a small herd after her, groaning and gurgling hungrily. Her legs began to tire. She felt herself slow, even though her mind was berating her body to keep running till she passed out or was safe. But her body wouldn't comply. She was overrun, and as they fell on her, the last thing she saw was a handsome redneck leaning against a phone pole, watching with mild curiosity as they devoured her flesh.

Despite her cries for help, he ignored her and walked away.

The last thing she saw was his back, clothed in a cracked leather vest with angel wings on it.

Then, darkness.

Kyra felt her heart pound against her chest as her eyes snapped open. She sat up slowly and looked around. She realized with some relief that she was in Hershel's house. Maggie was still asleep, snoring softly in the twin bed on the opposite side of the room.

She lay her head back down and took a couple calming breaths.

After that sleep came sporadically. When it did, she was haunted by his face watching impassively as she was being eaten alive.

00000000

Daryl glared at the roof of his tent. He knew when he laid down that sleep would be damn near impossible to get tonight. Most nights like this he'd just rub one off and then be out like a light but tonight? No. Tonight he was going to lie awake brooding till the small hours or maybe even dawn.

Kyra continued to puzzle him.

She had always refused to cry in front of him. Even when he'd told her it was over, she still stood firm and refused to shed a tear when he was around.

So what made now any different?

It might have been because it was Dale that was dead. He remembered all too well what she had said earlier in Hershel's living room. And in the field… he'd never seen her so overcome before.

He mulled over those last moments with her. God he was such an ass. No wonder she didn't want to even be in the same room as him, let alone receive comfort from him.

Why had he done what he did to her? If you had asked him, he wouldn't have had an answer. Shame rocked him to his core, pounded through him like the New Orleans levee after Hurricane Katrina.

His eyes pricked, and he knew they were filled with tears.

He didn't care anymore. The one thing he loved, the one thing he needed—Kyra—detested him with a passion he hadn't thought her capable of.

Daryl Dixon didn't cry. The last time he had was when his momma died. He'd been seven, and Merle had antagonized him so brutally afterwards that to this day he refused to cry. But that had all changed. Merle was gone and couldn't bitch him out now.

He rolled onto his stomach and gave himself over to his grief, both for Dale and for Kyra, but most of it really anger at himself for doing the one thing he had tried his damnedest not to do: driving her away.

Stronger men would have stayed away from her, blocked her out and forgotten her, moved on.

He wasn't strong enough.

00000000

**I seem to have a penchant for cliffhangers. Either way. Hope you enjoyed it and don't be afraid of that little "Review This Chapter" link at the bottom center of your screen. I might even answer your review too hahaha. You never know… . **


	10. All in green my love went riding

**Helloooooo! I do apologize for the delay in my updating. I couldn't pull this chapter together right at first and I had no idea what to do since chapter 9 was such a beast and I had to do the season 2 finale **_**some**_ **justice. Thanks for reading, reviewing and hopefully I didn't lose anybody in the interim. Many many many thanks and blessings upon my wonderful beta, mrsdaisybuchanan. Her story Backwoods is getting' good, y'all, you should really go check it out… **

**The song for this chapter is not a song but a poem by the great and talented e.e. cummings, called "[All in green my love went riding]". I do not own it and I do not intend any copyright infringement. **

**Also, I do not own The Walking Dead or ANY of its affiliated content, with the exception of my original character(s). **

**Don't forget to read and review!**

She didn't know how late into the night she'd woken up or how early in the morning she'd gone back to sleep, but she was roused at dawn by a very somber Maggie telling her that it was time for Dale's funeral.

Kyra nodded obediently and shrugged a jacket over her shoulders, following her cousin out without adding so much as a good morning.

She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and listened guiltily as Rick eulogized Dale, stating that the only way the group could stay whole is to put all differences aside and work together.

"This," the sheriff declared, "is how we honor Dale. From now on we're gonna do it his way. "

Kyra chewed her lower lip and guiltily stared down at the ground, scrutinizing the scuffs and dirt patches on her age-worn boots. Honor. What a banal concept. Honor didn't exist anymore. Daryl had proved that to her.

Daryl had proved a lot of things weren't true anymore.

She glanced up from analyzing her boots and felt her face go red, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Daryl was staring dead at her, holding her gaze captive with those damned baby blues of his—but it was the expression on his face that eluded her in definition.

He looked… bemused, almost. He seemed lost in thought, like he was completely unaware of what Rick was saying.

She knew she looked a fool staring at him like she was, like she was twelve again and he was the cutest boy she'd ever seen.

Somebody said her name—it was Lori, wasn't it? Calling her over to join the rest of the group as they surrounded Otis' truck. Hershel had decided to move everyone into the house. Shane, Andrea and Daryl were going to set up a perimeter around the farm and do away with any walkers within it. Shifts were set up to keep watch on Randall, the kid kept in the slaughtershed. Kyra had to rack her brain to remember him, she'd almost forgotten about him. Out of sight, out of mind, she guessed.

After duties had been assigned, Kyra followed Lori, Carol and Patricia, silently helping tote boxes and supplies into the house. She couldn't shake Daryl's eyes from this morning.

The word "raptor" sprang to mind.

00000000

"So did somethin' happen with you and Kyra?"  
>Daryl almost jumped. He had been so focused on making sure Shane wasn't going to flip his shit when Rick had informed him that he and Daryl would be taking care of Randall from now on, he hadn't thought anything of Kyra. He scrambled for an appropriate response. Wasn't really Rick's business anyways, way Daryl saw it.<br>"It that obvious?" He punted. He really, really wasn't good with taking about relationships, with anybody. It felt weird. Just plain weird.  
>"I'd say. What happened?"<br>Daryl cringed ever so slightly. Better Rick than Merle, at least.  
>He picked his words carefully. "We, uh, we… shit, man, we, ah, we had a fight." He sputtered finally.<br>He snuck a side glance at Rick. The sheriff's eyebrow was cocked up. "That all?"  
>"Yeah." Daryl picked at a burr stuck in the side of his boot. "Tha's all. She's just… I dunno, she's moody and depressed and shit and she won't talk to me or even really have anythin' t' do with me. I think…" For a second he trailed off and weighed his next words. "I think she hates me, tell ya the truth." He squinted off into the distance, eyeing what looked to be Shane putting up a watch platform on the windmill.<br>Rick followed the hunter's gaze and looped his thumbs around his belt loops, settling his weight back onto his heels, thinking.  
>"Doubt she does." He said finally. "She ain't that type of woman. Mind if I ask what you said?"<br>Shame colored Daryl's cheeks. "Yeah."  
>"Alright then." Rick stepped off the porch and turned to walk towards the barn. About six feet away from the porch, he stopped and turned back to Daryl.<p>

"Don't give up on her." He said finally. "I don't want to see y'all in the same boat as me and Lori."

Daryl's left hand clenched reflexively; he could still feel the brush of her skin as she yanked her hand out of his that final time.

"Yeah." He mumbled. "I won't."

He had already made up his mind to protect her, and once a Dixon made up his mind to do something, it couldn't be changed and it got done.

He'd be damned if he let her pride get in the way of her safety. She was just gonna have to suck it up and deal with him, whether she liked it or not.

00000000

Honestly, she enjoyed the little chores around the house. Lori didn't gripe anymore about not having help from Andrea; nine times out of ten, Kyra would pick up her slack and help without question or complaint.

Now, especially, it was relaxing. She had a sense of normalcy now that she hadn't felt in days. A breeze blew in lazily through the open window behind her. Through it she heard Rick's voice, and then _his_. She stopped folding the sheet to listen.

"What happened…"

Silence. This was followed by a low Southern rumble she'd have recognized anywhere. Then there were booted footsteps, receding away from the house, pausing (here Rick said something else, but he was too far away now for her to understand him.) and then vanishing altogether.

Kyra continued to fold the bed sheet in her hands, trying to push it out of her mind, to no avail. It wouldn't have surprised her if it _was_ her they were talking about. She wasn't oblivious to the fact that Rick had been keeping an eye on her as of late. And Daryl… well, for someone who had ordered her "out of his sight", he was acting awful clingy. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

At that moment, if you'd have asked her if she was okay, she would have said she was perfectly fine considering the circumstances and asked why you asked.

And she would have known almost instinctually that saying so would be a lie.

She folded the last of the sheets and scooped the pile up in her arms, carrying them from the laundry room to the master bedroom where Rick and Lori would be sleeping. On her way through the living room she caught sight of Daryl lumbering across the yard, presumably towards his isolated camp or the woods one.

She thought back to the night before, when Daryl had attempted to comfort her. She sighed and chewed her lower lip. That had been a long night. She had just begun to wonder where her sketchbook had run off to, when Lori came into the room toting a full basket of her and Rick's clothes. Kyra gave the older woman a weak smile and offered to put the clothes away for her, if she'd like.

"No, I think I'll do it, Kyra." The older woman gave her a smile that made Kyra cringe a little on the inside. Instead she yawned and returned to making the bed.

"You sleep alright, sweetie?" Lori asked conversationally.

"No," Kyra sighed, stifling another yawn. "I didn't. I have nightmares. Before they weren't much of a problem and were pretty few and far between, but Dale dying didn't help at all." _Or Daryl trying to console me._ She added silently. It wasn't like it was a bad thing; in retrospect she might have even been a little grateful for it. But nonetheless. It was highly strange, a bit like getting a chatty phone call from an estranged relative.

Lori, apparently, didn't get the picture. She stood up and put an arm around Kyra's shoulder and tried to give her what must have been an attempt at a maternal smile. "Look, honey," she simpered, "I'm not trying to humiliate you or make your personal tragedy any worse, but have you taken a look around? Our whole life is a nightmare now."

Kyra wanted to wring the woman's neck. "Right." She muttered, propping the clean-sheeted pillows on the mattress and scooping up her empty basket. _I'll keep that in mind. _

She left the room without another word and walked down to the laundry room, where she deposited the laundry basket next to the washer and marched back upstairs.

Without knowing why she wandered up to the study and pulled down a volume bound in dark cloth with a pale blue spine. She cracked the covers and flipped through the pages.

e.e Cummings had always been one of her favorites. She let her eyes roam over the pages, the mangled and misused punctuations, randomly placed parenthesis and capital letters, the unconventional construction of the stanzas. The words rolled in her head like waves on the shore and before she knew what she was doing her voice breathed life to them, filling the silence with images profound and humble.

00000000

Carol had asked him to put her things up in the study near the Grimes' room, in case Lori had any problems with the baby in the middle of the night. He didn't mind toting the bags for her; Carol was only one woman and thus didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions.

He had just turned the corner from the stairs when he heard the words.

"I'd forgotten about this book. It's been ages…"

Kyra. He set the belongings down quietly and pressed his back up against the wall. Should he go in and apologize, fall to his knees and beg forgiveness? He shook that idea out of his mind. No, he was a Dixon. Dixons didn't do shit like that.

But she was so very close to him… less than ten feet away…

The words rolled off her tongue like music.

"'All in green went my love riding

on a great horse of gold

into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

the merry deer ran before.

Fleeter be they than dappled dreams

the swift sweet deer

the red rare deer.

Horn at hip went my love riding

riding the echo down

into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

the level meadows ran before.

Softer be they than slippered sleep

the lean lithe deer

the fleet flown deer.

Four fleet does at a gold valley

the famished arrows sang before.

Bow at belt went my love riding

riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

the sheer peaks ran before.

Paler be they than daunting death

the sleek slim deer

the tall tense deer.

Four tall stags at a green mountain

the lucky hunter sang before.

All in green went my love riding

on a great horse of gold

into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling

my heart fell dead before.' "

Daryl opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them. She underestimated herself, how she could captivate and entice with something so small as her voice. He heard her sigh, plaintively almost, and for a second he wanted to go in there and do something for her, at least let her talk to him. There was the sound of a book closing, and then a loud creak as she trod on a loose floorboard. His pulse raced and something turned in his gut as she stepped out of the room and turned in his direction. He snatched Carol's things up in his hands and stepped away from the wall. She started when she saw him, and for a fleeting second their eyes met. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. Before he could open his mouth to say something (not that he would have, he wasn't going to risk being hurt again after she had spurned him so viscerally the night before) she barged past him and pounded down the stairs, across the foyer, around the corner and out of sight.

Daryl stood and watched from the window as she marched across the yard, shoulders hunched and dark hair billowing around her head like a black halo, absently chewing his thumbnail down to the quick. Would she never take the hint?

00000000

Randall was gone, Shane said. Broke the deputy's nose and ran away, took his gun too. Kyra felt her hand fly up and grasp the hilt of her sword as Rick called out for Glenn and Daryl to go with him and Shane into the woods to search for Randall.

She couldn't name it or give a reason why, but suddenly she had the strangest, most sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach and rising up to her throat when Daryl's name was called. She swallowed it back and marched resolutely towards the house, hanging back behind T-Dog and Andrea.

For a moment she turned and watched the treeline again.

There it was, that same sick feeling of dread and apprehension. She chalked it up to anxiety over Randall finding his group and bringing them back to the farm, and headed inside.

00000000

Daryl swiped his fingertips over the patch of blood on the tree trunk. He knew beyond a doubt that the blood was human. So Shane hadn't been attacked like he had said he was.

Something rustled behind them. _Walker. _It lunged for Glenn, only to be dispatched by Daryl less than a moment later.

A second look revealed that it wasn't just a walker.

It was Randall.

00000000

Daryl threw the door open and was immediately met by a worry-stricken Lori, along with Andrea, T-Dog, Carol, Maggie, Beth and Patricia. He noted with a spike of anxiety that Kyra wasn't in the room.

"Found Randall." He announced. "Only he wasn't shot."

"Did you find Rick and Shane?" Lori asked fretfully.

"No," Daryl admitted softly. "We didn't."

"Could you go out and look for them? Please?" The pregnant woman begged.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah."

He and Glenn turned and headed for the door.

He hadn't noticed previously, despite his exceptional talents as a hunter, that the woman he sought in the room was really behind him the whole time, watching with a carefully detached expression on her face. She looked ready for battle, with her jeans tucked into her boots, wearing a black canvas jacket and fingerless gloves. Her arms were folded across her chest and her baldric was slung across her left shoulder.

He met her eyes, and thought he saw her expression soften just a tad. She looked away, almost as if she was ashamed of herself for something.

Daryl sighed to himself. He'd fret over her after they had Rick and Shane back.

He stalked across the porch, his boots clunking loudly in the stillness of the night.

A shot broke the silence.

Daryl's head jerked up and suddenly everyone else was outside.

"Where's Carl?" Lori asked. But that wasn't what he was focusing on.

A collective gasp went up as the survivors realized a massive herd was heading for the farmhouse.

Lori immediately began to obsess over losing Carl and Rick again. Daryl tuned her out and immediately loaded his crossbow, helping the others formulate a plan of attack against the herd. He, T-Dog and Glenn would circle around the barn and shoot as many walkers as they could, with Maggie, Andrea and Kyra all riding shotgun and shooting at the geeks as well.

Glenn paled when he noticed Maggie loading a shotgun.

She caught his look and explained quickly: "You grow up country, you pick up a few things."

Daryl stole a glance at Kyra, who was busy filling a pistol magazine with bullets. Again, his tongue leapt to action before his brain could stop it. "You learn to shoot that thing yet, girl?" he called over to her. (_why did I do that? She ain't gonna dignify that with an answer) _

"As a matter of fact," the coldness in her voice startled him. "I did. Rick taught me."

She shoved a couple more magazines in her back pocket and glared at him.

He was just pleased she answered him. He'd have been worried if she hadn't.

00000000

T-Dog slung the truck around, sending Kyra tumbling across the bed. She wedged herself between the corner of the truck bed and the tailgate, and squeezed off another three rounds at a mass of walkers near her. Two fell dead. She shot at more until the chamber was empty, leaving her with one more full magazine. Fourteen shots. And then after that she'd be on her own. She fired at another group of walkers, bringing down four this time.

She shifted a little to get a better purchase against the side of the bed; the truck hit a bump, and she went tumbling. She lost her gun, the weapon flying out of her hand as she hurtled towards the ground. She didn't see where it landed, and at any rate, she wasn't going to be able to find it, not with the sheer volume of walkers ambling around the farm. Her feet hurt like a bitch from the way she'd landed—remarkably catlike, something she was rather grateful for since a bruised or broken rib would have been a major pain in the ass to fix. Her hands were shaking as she raised the gun and took a step back, firing at any geek that came too near.

After what seemed too short a time, she was out of ammo. She did the only thing she could do: toss the empty gun away and run.

She could hear them closing in behind her, all around her. She chanced a glance over her shoulder as she pulled the sword out of its sheath. There was no one around to save her. She swung out madly, determined not to die.

She lopped off as many heads as she could, but they just kept coming. Her arms were tiring. Her knees and her ankles were screaming at her. There was no opening.

There were too many.

The din of Daryl's motorcycle reached her ears through the cacophony. Oddly, it sounded like it was nearing.

But she knew it wasn't.

Her nightmares were right.

She was going to die this night, and he wasn't going to do anything to prevent it.

**Well then. Thanks for reading and take note of that new and improved review button at the bottom of your screen, and put that sucker to use! I wanna know what my readers think of my writing. Feedback is always appreciated. **


	11. Please Forgive Me

**The long awaited update is finally here! Sorry about the time discrepancy, it took a while. I tried not to put a cliffhanger in this chapter, since the last one was so major. Welp, here I go into the post-S2 storyline… probably gonna be prison arc spoilers from now on. Much thanks to all who read and reviewed… and of course to my wonderful beta mrsdaisybuchanan. This chapter's song is "Please Forgive Me" by David Gray. As usual I own nothing, aside from my own wishful thinking. Read and review, y'all, and I hope you enjoy! :D**

The geeks pressed in on her like a vacuum, trapping her. She gritted her teeth and bravely lifted the sword, hacking off or dismembering as many heads as she could. But they just kept coming, almost as if each one she killed revived itself and split into two more walkers. It was an agonizingly long time before she had killed enough of them to escape.

And run she did. Flat out, like a bat out of hell. The sword and the baldric slung over her shoulder only added weight, and it didn't take long for her to get fatigued. Dammit she was too out of shape for this.

The roar of an engine filled her ears suddenly, then his voice, rough, commanding and protective:

"Get on the bike, woman, c'mon! I ain't got all day!" He skidded to a halt and for a long second she froze, unable to process it all. First he leaves her and now he's trying to save her again? What sort of joke was this?

But the walkers were closing in fast. She had no other choice. She dropped the sword back into its sheath and stumbled towards the bike, swinging a leg over and clinging to his middle as he revved the engine and sped away, closing her eyes tightly against the madness surrounding her.

She didn't know how long they drove for, or how far for that matter. She opened her eyes after a few miles, and let her mind catch itself up.

God what a night. The farm was gone. For all she knew Hershel and the rest of her kin were dead, or walkers, or both, and here she was stuck with the one man she could hardly abide to even be in the same room with. Wasn't that just fucking peachy?

They rode for well into the night, until Daryl pulled the bike off the road near an old abandoned house and parked it just shy of the tree line, holding out a hand to help her off the bike. She declined it and used his shoulder instead.

"We're stayin' here tonight." He told her gruffly, marching off to clear the area of walkers.

She just stood there with her arms folded, silent. Tonight had been stressful enough. Now he was going to order her around like she was incapable of deciding for herself what she was going to do? Jesus Christ. She watched silently as he disappeared into the shadows and was gone, feeling her brow furrow into a scowl. A glance to her left revealed the road was empty of any signs of life, be it human, animal or undead.

She didn't have to stay. Nothing was keeping her here. She couldn't stand Daryl anyways, especially not after what he had done to her back at the farm. She had felt so close to him… Hell, maybe back then she really had been in love with him. And maybe he had loved her back. But now? No. Now was different.

She cast a last look at the abandoned house and walked away, her speed picking up with each step she took. Before long she was running again. The asphalt was cracked and worn beneath her feet and there were tears rolling fat and hot down her face and then there was a flash of lightning and then thunder overhead. It all seemed so surreal, like a scene from a movie. She tripped over something she didn't see and crashed to the ground, somehow twisting her ankle. She didn't try to move, instead lying sprawled on her back, her body open to the pouring rain and the lightning, sobbing for all she was worth.

It was gone. All of it. Everything was gone, all her loved ones, everyone and everything she'd ever cared about and now she was stuck with a man who hated her and whom she was certain would just leave her for walker bait if it meant saving his own skin. There was no hope anymore, no reason for anything. She could turn into one of them and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill her and move on.

But then there was a voice calling out for her, the thunk of boots on the pavement, calloused but gentle hands on her arms, gathering her in his arms and patiently lifting her up off the pavement. She continued to weep, her body convulsing and shuddering, attempting weakly to push away from him. Instead she fell and landed on her ass. He said something to her in a voice that sounded too gentle to be his, but she couldn't understand what it was he said.

She tried to put weight on her ankle but was met with a wave of pain up her right leg, making her knees go weak and buckle beneath her. Daryl wrapped an arm around her and held her closely, her arm thrown around his shoulder, his arm supporting her at the waist. She choked out another sob and wanted to curl up and die right there. She could feel her pride waning with every step they took, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto it.

"Shh, shh, it's okay babe, I gotcha." He mumbled, pulling her back upright and cautiously scooping her up and off her feet, toting her bridal style with her head slumped against his collarbone. "'S okay. I'm here, 's alright, 's alright."

He carried her like this the whole quarter mile to the empty house, crossing the threshold just in time for rain to start pouring outside.

Daryl carried her through the house and into a sparsely decorated bedroom, setting her down carefully on the mattress with care she thought him incapable of.

"Need you to put your foot up, Kyra. C'mon, now. Go on and do it." He urged softly, crouching by the bedside. When she didn't, he sighed and tugged her boot from her foot, tearing up the pinkish shop rag he kept on him at all times and wrapping the strips carefully around her ankle. When he was done he stood and gave her a look that said, "Don't you go and even think about doing anything else stupid."

She sighed in resignation and laid back on the mattress.

Why? Why was he doing this for her? Why had he saved her from the walkers at the farm, why had he brought her back to the small house after she ran off and hurt her ankle? Why had he torn his shop rag up and bandaged her foot? The more she thought the more she began to suspect that maybe he wasn't as hateful towards her as she had thought he was. Maybe he didn't hate her. She closed her eyes and played in her mind the memories of the time they'd been together. Really, he could have been worse. He could have been—

She heard him enter the room and she rolled onto her side, pretending to be asleep. A chair scraped across the floor, and he exhaled heavily as he sank into it.

There was a period of silence that felt like hours, even though they both knew it was only a few minutes. Daryl spoke first.

"Kyra, I know you ain't asleep."

She ignored him, even though she conceded his point by opening her eyes. She wasn't going to open up to him, not this soon. She didn't want to feel that acute, crushing despair again. No. Not from him. Not ever again.

He stood suddenly—she could hear the chair scrape across the floor again with the sudden movement—and began to pace, something she noted that he had never done before.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of his boots clunking on the old wooden floor. Then they stopped, and he spoke.

"Look, I'm sorry. Okay? And I don't fuckin' care if you feel the same way or not." Then he seemed to hear himself and paused for a second. "Dammit." He grumbled. "Dammit that wasn't… shit. If you hate me, that's fine. It's your choice." He paced some more, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Goddammit, I love you, Kyra, and you can hate me if you want but I'm only gonna say this once, and you can take it or leave it.

Kyra listened in stony silence as he spoke, but not without noting a little tightening in her throat and a skip in her heartbeat when the words "I love you" crossed his lips. Maybe she had been wrong the whole time? And maybe it had just been her pride? She rolled over and felt her heart drop in her chest when she realized he had left the room. She sat up slowly and awkwardly, minding her hurt foot and the fatigue in her legs. Time to grow some balls and admit her fault.

00000000

Daryl watched her, his face heating up as the words fell out of his mouth. She was letting on like she was still ignoring him. Fuck. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the little room, retreating to the dilapidated front porch. His nerves were already shot to hell and now she was just going to pretend he didn't exist. Well wasn't this just a Hallmark moment? Damn he could have used a cigarette and a fifth of whiskey right now. He dropped down into a moldering rocking chair and passed his hands over his face. Goddammit, he should just stop. Leave the bitch behind and—

Something thumped behind him, within the house. He sprang to his feet, crossbow at the ready, waiting for confirmation that it was a walker.

But it wasn't. Kyra limped along the empty hall, staring down at the floor and bracing herself against the wall. She hadn't even put her boot back on. She glanced up at him and then just as quickly returned her focus to the floor, shuffling nearer and nearer to him until he could smell the scent of her skin. She was close, so very close. His heart raced and his hands shook imperceptibly. This was certainly a step forward. He wanted so badly not to get his hopes up, and there she was, standing there, his to hold and protect for as long as he could…

"You meant that? What you said back there?" Her voice was quiet, little more than a whisper. She still wouldn't look at him. He figured he wasn't gonna force her to. He took a second to realize what she was talking about but after another second, it clicked.

"Wouldn'ta said it if I didn't." He muttered, cutting his eyes down to meet hers.

She shifted her weight around a little, leaning heavily on the doorframe. Her gaze was still fixed on the floor. "Daryl, why… why did you… before, at the farm, why did you say we rushed into it if you've felt this way the whole time?"

Now it was his turn to look away, ashamed. "I was drunk. After you left I got totally fuckin' shitfaced and then… I was drunk, was all. Drunk and stupid." His voice was low, thick with regret. He couldn't tell her about Merle, she'd think he was completely batshit insane.

Her head slowly lifted up and she turned his face to meet hers. He was startled to again see tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. "That's a chickenshit excuse, Daryl." She sounded… bleak, maybe even hopeless. It tore him up. "I trusted you, I confided in you, I felt safe and protected around you; hell, I slept with you. You hurt me, hell of a lot worse than I gave it credit for, and that's why I avoided you so much. It hurt me bad to see you and be… reminded of …that."

She was right. He knew it, and not even deep down. He knew it with every fiber of his existence. The guilt sang in his blood and heightened his senses like adrenaline.

"Already said I'm sorry." He muttered, catching her eyes again. "What else ya want from me? Dozen roses and a bottle a wine?"

She shrugged and chuckled bitterly, resuming her nervous habit of picking her nails. "I dunno. Wine would be nice now you mention it, but I figure I shouldn't drink right now. I'm liable not to be able to stop."

"So what we gonna do? I ain't gonna take the bike out in this weather." He jerked his head back towards the rain coming down in sheets around them. He slung the crossbow back over his shoulder and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

She shifted her weight a little and leaned against the doorframe, bracing herself on her arm.

"I'm gonna apologize as well." She bit her lower lip and stared out over his shoulder. Then her eyes locked back on his and he was lost, drowning in glittering hazel-amber pools. "Like I said, it hurt. I was so wrapped up in protecting myself that I refused to see that you wanted to make amends." He tensed at the memories: she had rebuked him, pushed him away, spurned him… he didn't even want to think about the night Dale had died. He felt something almost violent begin to simmer in the pit of his stomach, but choked it back as best as he could. She was trying to say her piece, make her amends, and losing his temper on her again would not help anything.

"I'm sorry, Daryl. I was a bitch. 'T wasn't called for, and it was wrong." She sighed heavily and her eyes drifted back over his shoulder. "Damn I wish I had my sketchbook right now. I hate to think that it got left somewhere when the herd attacked after it went missing." The corners of her mouth twisted into a dissatisfied frown.

Daryl watched her carefully for a moment, thinking. What would she do to him when he gave the sketchbook back to her? Would she scream at him? Yell, cry, throw a shit fit, slap him across the face? Either way it didn't matter now. He had cleared his conscience, lain himself bare and open at her feet. She couldn't hurt him any worse now than she had before. He clasped her shoulders for a second and ordered her not to move, then ducked out into the rain and vanished. He returned a minute later, hiding something beneath his jacket.

She watched curiously as he stepped back onto the porch, soaked to the bone, droplets of water dripping off his hair and the tip of his nose.

Her eyes widened in disbelief and she gasped unconsciously as he withdrew a rectangular object bound in scuffed black leather and tied shut with a thin strip of hide. "Oh my God…" The words fell out of her mouth in a sigh.

"You, uh, you dropped this," Here he swallowed thickly and realized his voice was shaking. What the hell was wrong with him, why couldn't he talk? "The night that, uh, that Dale died. I found it lyin' in the grass an' I… I figured I'd keep it for ya so nothin' would happen to it. I didn't think you realized you had, ah, lost it, and that's why you never put up much fuss about lookin' for it."

She took it reverently from his hands and pulled at the knot that held it shut. She thumbed through a couple pages before looking up at him from beneath her eyebrows.

"Did you open it or look through it at all?"

What was she trying to accomplish? He stuttered out a no, half-terrified she'd go off on him and think he was lying.

Instead she flipped to the back of the book and held it out to him.

"I drew this after Sophia died." She said quietly, scanning his face carefully for any reaction. "I thought you might like to see it."

His eyes flickered up to hers, but were suddenly riveted onto the page in front of him.

Yes, it was a drawing of him, but that wasn't what cut him so deeply. Rather, it was a drawing of him and Sophia. They were walking out of the woods through a field of tall grass. Sophia was holding Daryl's hand like a child would her father's. On her back were petite angel wings.

His eyes were stinging. He closed the sketchbook silently and handed it back to her. Had she meant to show that to him before? Or had she meant for him to find it on his own? He shook his head and decided he would never really know.

"That's… that's really good." Was all he could say. Lightning flashed behind him, followed almost immediately by a peal of thunder so loud it shook the little house. Kyra stumbled forward a little, startled by the loudness, landing with her hands clinging to his arms and dropping the sketchbook clumsily.

She bent down awkwardly and attempted to retrieve it without putting weight on her twisted ankle, only to be unbalanced again when thunder rattled the little house a second time and almost knocked her off her feet. Daryl swooped down and lifted her up, retrieving the sketchbook from off the floor and handing it to her.

She clutched it tightly to her chest as if it were the last book on Earth. Daryl regarded her for a moment. She had changed so much since he met her, what seemed so long ago, even though he knew it had only been a couple months or so. She looked almost frail now, but still determined. He saw the old spark glint in her eyes, the one that said she could make it on her own, she didn't need anybody to help her at all, chagrined at having to lean against him for support.

"You need to get back inside." He mumbled. "Ain't good for you to be on your foot like that."

She gave no discernible response, save for easing up onto her left leg. She leaned away from him, wouldn't look him in the eye.

Daryl half-carried her into the small bedroom he'd laid her up in and told her she needed rest, that he'd take watch for tonight.

He had reached the doorway when he heard her voice, small and uncharacteristically meek, say his name.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yeah?"

She was still almost shyly quiet.

"I don't want to be alone."

He turned on his heel and regarded her from where he stood. In the darkness she was but a silhouette, though his keen eyes could tell she was sitting up and watching him watch her.

Silence, save for the drum of the rain on the tin roof.

"Please." The word was so quiet he almost didn't hear it.

She needed him. She needed him, his presence, his company; something he'd secretly hoped and waited for since he realized what a mistake he'd made in pushing her away. Lightning flashed and he thought he saw vulnerability on her face.

"Alrigh'. C'mon, you can sit watch with me in the other room." He led her across the hall into an empty living room. Unbeknownst to her, he had found a couple matchbooks and a bunch of dried logs out back and had stacked them neatly in the small fireplace. She sat gingerly on the hardwood floors and watched silently as he set about lighting the stack of logs, using a couple old issues of Southern Living Magazine he'd found lying around as tinder. Before too long the wood was smoldering and the room was filled with the sharp tang of pine smoke.

Kyra closed her eyes and breathed deeply, opened her eyes and exhaled slowly. Her breath billowed around her nose and mouth like little clouds. She stared at the flickering embers, into the depths of the coals, and realized with some satisfaction that she wasn't thinking anything. That she felt lighter, easier, calmer. Less of a frazzled, nervous wreck than she had in the past few weeks. A tiny smile twitched the corners of her mouth. Maybe it was Daryl that was her cool-down, her anxiety relief. She decided (her smile widening the whole time) that if this was a movie, there were a couple ways this evening could go. One, there could be a sweet montage of the two of them sitting there "bonding": talking and laughing and just being cute altogether, which she knew right off would never happen even though the thought of Daryl Dixon being "cute" amused her greatly; she doubted even his own mother had called him that. Or two, they could have a deep and emotionally meaningful conversation about their feelings and then have hot, needy make-up sex all night long. That would be nice, at least the latter part, indeed, but she doubted that Daryl would be so easily distracted from his self-imposed watch duty by her feminine charms, however much of a horn dog as he could be at times.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sudden presence of said Dixon, who promptly dropped at her feet a blanket, a bottle of water and a pouch of homemade jerky before plopping down on the floor next to her and turning to his almost nightly task of bolt cleaning.

"You brought me dinner. How sweet." She quipped, before opening the pouch and tearing off a piece of jerky between her teeth. He made no reply, save for a low grunt of acknowledgement.

"What kinda meat is this?" She asked as she chewed. "Tastes good."

He paused in his task and glanced up at her. "Squirrel." He answered curtly, before returning to cleaning his arrows.

She observed him while she ate, noting that he was using a different rag than before—this one was white and extraordinarily nappy, presumably to replace the one that was currently torn into pieces and tied around her foot. She shrugged it off and reached instead for her sketchbook.

00000000

Her arm brushed past his leg as she reached for the little bound book she so prized. He watched from the corner of his eye as she opened it carefully and flipped past the pages. Drawings of people he didn't know, people he did know, animals, houses, almost anything she could fix within her sight. A couple times he thought he saw his own face rendered in pencil, but he didn't stop his work to ask her.

He got four more bolts cleaned before his mind began to wander. He noted without comment that she had curled up and gone to sleep wrapped in one of the quilts he had found. He had finished his work, so he set his arrows down and steepled his hands in front of his face, watching her intently. She was so… odd. Odd was a good word. First she avoids him like the plague and now here she is asleep at his feet, almost like she would trust the world with him. Not that he was complaining about it, but it was still more than he had let himself hope for.

Why had she done it? He knew she'd said it was to protect herself but he hadn't meant to hurt her. Couldn't she have seen that he was drunk when he left her, and therefore not in his right mind? It wasn't like he was a psychopath or nothing.

Kyra twitched in her sleep, rolling over onto her side and grimacing. She made a small sound of discomfort and curled in on herself into the fetal position.

He watched attentively, half-believing that it was just another one of her nightmares.

Her breathing sped up, shallower than before. She made another groaning noise, this one rising in pitch and much more abject. After maybe five more minutes her eyes fluttered open and she sat up slowly.

She looked around self-consciously for a moment and flushed violently. He shook his head and stared at the fire.

"You have another nightmare?" He asked without looking at her.

"Yeah." He chanced a peek in her direction, only to find her with glassy eyes and a haunted look on her face.

"You gonna be alright?"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I think so. It was just, damn, that was a weird one. Shit."

Before he could think of a reason not to, Daryl dropped down to the floor next to her and was sitting next to her, then was reaching out and taking her hand in his. "I'm right here." He mumbled awkwardly, shooting a glance at her then looking away just as quickly. She flashed him a tiny, but warm smile, and laid back down on the floor, loosely intertwining her fingers with his. Before long she was asleep again, her face peaceful and expressionless. A couple hours before she woke, Kyra rolled over in her sleep and mumbled something like, "Please forgive me, if I act a little strange…"

He stared at her for a moment. Shaking his head, he laid down next to her, one arm slung over her waist and the other stretched out on the floor, and watched the gray sky lighten ever so slightly into what he could only assume was the dawn, hidden behind sheets of steel-colored rain.

**I do apologize if the end seems like another cliffhanger. I really didn't mean to put one in this time. Anyways, don't forget to review and tell me what you think about this chapter or the overall story in general. **


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